Housepest
by readithoney
Summary: Judge Dredd bends a rule for a pair of blue eye with dreams bigger than Mega-City One. WARNING: Spanking, Sexy times
1. Chapter 1

**Housepest: Chapter 1**

Joseph Dredd was a man of few words and the words he did choose were always orders, gruff and rumbling, threatening, seething. There was more to this man, under the boiling hot surface and the sheen of soul-crushing judge work, there was a dormant but lingering desire to break out of the mold into which he had been pressed. The first crack in his seams came in the form of a young man, a useless punk, a wiseass kid with eyes like rooftop swimming pools and hair like sun. In this filthy, rotting city of rust and blood, those bright, brilliant features trapped the judge unexpectedly, and stayed his hand from calling in the meat wagon.

Responding to a block war that turned out to be a bunch of creeps getting rowdy over their meager turf and waving around guns like lunatics, he had most of them zipped and waiting for transport down in the square. Once he called in the wagon, he decided to go up a few floors and see if he could find any of the punks who escaped his grasp. There he saw the kid in the hall and he might have walked right by if the little fool hadn't nearly jumped out of his milky skin and quickly barricaded himself in his apartment.

Dredd kicked the door in easily enough and stepped into the filthy apartment that was literally a hole in the wall. Crowded and small, the space seemed more like a closet than a home. The kid was actually under the fucking bed, his bright eyes peeking out ridiculously past a frayed pair of sneakers.

Pretending not to see him, Dredd kicked the door shut behind him and looked around the apartment. The kitchenette area was a shocking sight. The wall and ceiling were blackened from a fire-possibly more than one fire-and the appliances were broken or melted. The refrigerator was warped and looked like a Freon disaster waiting to happen. Dredd frowned even deeper, if that was possible.

He opened the fridge to an ear-drum piercing squeal of the hinges and found it non-functional and full of books. He did a double-take. Come to think of it, as Dredd turned, there were books everywhere. Old, musty books lined the shelves and stacked in teetering towers along the walls. The trembling kid in hiding slunk closer to the wall as Dredd walked over and sat on the bed, the mattress sagging beneath him. He picked up a book from the threadbare sheets and turned it in his gloved hands, _Cosmos_, it was called.

"You gonna make me wait?" Dredd finally rasped, closing the book, careful not to lose the matchbook bookmark. Though, looking at the kitchen wall again, he wasn't sure the kid should have a book of matches.

He waited another minute, listening to the fear-heavy breathing from under the bed before standing up and flipping the flimsy frame over, letting it crash into the opposite wall, revealing the cowering man beneath. He had nowhere to run, so the punk curled into the cobwebbed corner and covered his face.

Yanking a zip from his belt, Dredd approached the trembling creature and dragged him away from the wall. Collecting his arms as he twisted, Joe cinched the zip tight into the kid's wrists, trapping them together behind his back, the plastic tie pressing deep into the delicate, smooth skin.

"Taking part in violent, gang-based crimes?" Dredd asked, giving his prisoner a rare opportunity to talk. The kid shook his head dramatically, looking up into the helmet with big, shiny eyes. "Your name?"

"James Tiberius Kirk," he quavered, "Jim." Speaking his name seemed to have a calming effect on the kid who composed himself enough to square his shoulders and twist his torso toward Dredd, "And I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was self-defense."

Dredd considered that before reaching down and yanking out a handgun that was nestled in the back of the kid's pants, poorly hidden by his tatty shirt. "Got a license?" he asked, turning the gun in his palm, the serial numbers had been filed off.

Jim swallowed hard and closed his eyelids down over those blue pools, his long eyelashes whispering against his cheeks. He shook his head solemnly then hung it, knowing he was caught.

Dredd knew he should speak the sentence. Instead, he seized Jim's upper arm and dragged him up onto his feet. He palmed the _Cosmos_ book and hooked the kid's elbow, leading him roughly from the space, shutting and securing the door behind them.

Silenced by fear or hope, Jim didn't say a word as he was pulled roughly through the block to the elevator and then out into the beating sun. Joe pushed Jim to his bike, Lawmaster, and instructed him to straddle the seat. Joe mounted behind him, Jim's tethered hands gathered close to his leather-clad genitals as he reached around him for the handles. His shift was over and he wasn't sure what he was doing with the kid on his bike as he peeled out into the smoggy traffic before the meat wagon could arrive to collect the others.

In an effort to feel safe from falling, Jim leaned his shoulders into the broad and bedecked chest behind him, his head clunking into the hard helmet of the judge. He wasn't sure what the hell was happening, but he was certain it wasn't going to be okay. He assumed, based on the position of his hands and the unorthodox methods of the judge, that he was being taken off for some illegal and unpleasant activity. When he thought of the possibilities and implications, his body shuddered in fear.

Dredd pulled his bike into the lower parking garage of his home block, easing Lawmaster into a protected area and turning it off. He rose up off the bike and yanked Jim off after him, setting him onto his feet.

Jim turned to the judge in the darkened space and pleaded softly, "Please sir, release me. Please judge."

"Quiet," the reply was gruff and accompanied by a hard swat to his ass that forced Jim on his toes and left him breathless. He was dragged by his elbow once again, wincing and silent, toward an industrial elevator. This block was mostly Judges and a few other government employees and Jim could sense the ill-natured man's desire to hurry.

Once off the elevator, it was a few extra-long, fast strides to a door and Dredd shouldered it open and yanked the kid in with him.

Sliding the door shut, inside, Dredd pulled out a blade and Jim squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath, waiting for the first cut.

Instead, he felt his hands swing free as the zip was cut. He opened his eyes and looked at the purple welts from the indentation of the plastic tie. He rubbed tenderly at the skin and absent-mindedly ran a hand over his own ass where the swat had landed moments ago.

Jim's mouth was dry as he looked around the orderly space. It was industrial but pristine, with blank but unsullied metal walls and everything was organized and straight.

Dredd pointed to a small table in the kitchen. Craning his neck in every direction, Jim had never been in a living space with more than one room. He sat obediently at the table in one of the chairs. The judge pulled out the _Cosmos_ book and tossed it down. Jim captured the book in his hands gratefully, pressing his fingers into the hard cover and smoothing them across.

Loosing another zip, Dredd took Jim's left wrist and tethered his arm to the metal register by the table. He secured it tight and turned to leave the room.

"Sir!" Jim called after him. No response, "Mr. Judge?"

A minute later a man emerged where once a judge had been. Without his helmet, the man had expressive, edged eyes with thick eyebrows and a mess of brown hair, matted and sweaty from the hot helmet. "What?" he asked, his voice still coarse and abrupt.

Jim was caught off-guard by the human face before him and he stuttered over his words, "What is happening to me?" he rolled his eyes at himself in annoyance, "I mean, what do you intend to do? How can I prevent it? Please, just send me to the cubes, don't do this."

Joe twisted his face in shock, realizing the kid thought he brought him here to rape him. "I'm not gonna hurt you, kid," he promised, indignant.

Jim looked relieved and Joe spun on his heels to peel himself out of his clothes and shower the grime and sweat off his weary body. He tugged dutifully at his cock as he showered, draining against the tile floor before washing his hair, his fingernails digging deep into his scalp. He thought about the kid in the kitchen and felt a pit of pain enter his stomach.

He was the law. Or at least, he was supposed to be the law. Right now, he was a criminal. He believed in the laws that governed their society with his full heart. Something about that kid out there broke him.

When he returned to the kitchen, showered and fresh, he noted how grubby and scrawny Jim looked. He sat opposite the young man and folded his bare, calloused hands.

Jim observed the man with darting eyes. He was rugged and attractive despite the visible scars on his neck and arms, undoubtedly more scars lay beneath his cottony clothing. Jim felt more relaxed. As ridiculous as the judge uniform was, it certainly held the power of intimidation.

"What do you want first," the man who was no longer a judge asked, "a shower or something to eat?"

The question elicited a physical response, an audible, guttural groan from the hollow gulf that was Jim's belly. Joe was about to get up and make food when the thick grime under the kid's fingernails caught his attention.

"While I make dinner, you will shower," he announced, "and scrub."

Jim inspected himself and his hand, then hid it quickly under the table, blushing. His other hand was tied in place, so he simply made a fist to hide his dirty fingers.

Joe stood up and stretched. He walked to the heavy metal door in the kitchen, "Pay attention, punk," he said, his voice sounded softer in the quiet of the apartment but no less authoritative. "This door," he rapped on the thick metal, "is the only exit. The halls are lined with judges on every level and we're on the forty-fourth floor." He slapped a latch over the door and hooked a padlock in place.

The blond man gave him an open-mouthed look and nodded slowly. "What is the plan, sir?"

"My name is Joe," the older man said, holding out his hand. Jim took it and received a rough, quick squeeze. "You should be serving five years in the cubes for unlawful possession of a firearm and more for disorderly conduct and gang affiliation."

"I told you, I'm not in a gang," Jim said, his brilliant eyes flashing angrily up at his captor. "And if that is true, why am I not in the cubes right now? Why am I here?"

Joe didn't know how to answer that question. He wasn't sure why he brought the kid back here or what he was going to do next. He felt conflicted about the legality of his actions, but he did not regret them. "I'm," Joe said, pausing and rolling the words around in his head before spilling them out on the table, "I'm going to keep an eye on you. Make sure you're okay."

He waited for a response, an angry jerk or a scream for help from the skinny young man tied to his breakfast nook. Instead, the blue eyes looked wet and shiny. They looked bewildered and afraid. They looked grateful. "Why?" he croaked out.

Joe grabbed a knife from the drawer and walked over, bending over Jim and carefully sliding the blade up under the zip, freeing his hand. "I don't know," he said honestly.

There was loneliness in his voice that Jim recognized from his own. "I won't try to escape," he whispered, rubbing at his wrist.

Nodding, Joe led Jim into the bedroom, a dark chamber with a small, smoky window too high on the wall, spreading a rectangle of dim light across the bed, which was made with military precision. Joe stopped at his dresser and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a soft shirt, dropping them into the kid's arms. Then he pointed him to the shower.

Jim headed for the tiny bathroom, glancing back over his shoulder at Joe once before heeling out of his sneakers, leaving them on the floor in his wake. When the door closed, Joe picked up the shoes and inspected them. They were eaten through with holes and the smell made his eyes water. He passed judgment on the offending footwear, carried them to the kitchen, and dropped them into the garbage chute.

He set to work on a stir fry. Living alone, Joseph Dredd preferred simple foods and had perfected a stable of dishes that he could enjoy after a long shift in the city. He stirred at the pan with a spatula and thought about the fact that he had never cooked for another person before. His deep frown twitched on his face as a strange hope was born deep within him: he hoped Jim liked this food.

When Jim emerged from the shower looking pink and clean, Joe took note that the sweatpants had to be tied to his scrawny waist and he was swimming in the shirt. His golden hair was darker with moisture and his feet were bare. He stood in the middle of the kitchen and inhaled the scent of the food with his eyes closed and his palms on his belly.

"Sit," Joe said, his back turned back toward the stovetop. He listened as Jim slid into a chair. He tipped the pan and poured the sizzling stir fry into the bowls he'd set out. He heaped a larger portion in Jim's bowl and carried it to the table.

Providing a napkin and a fork for each of them, Joe watched out of the corner of his eye as Jim burned his tongue on the eagerly anticipated meal. He hooked two beers on his fingers and then changed his mind, grabbing a soda for Jim.

He sat to eat, watching Jim shovel food into his face with urgency. "Slow down, you'll choke."

Jim looked up with his cheeks full, "M'gloh" he said, smiling. Joe had no idea what that meant.

Joe looked to the side and stabbed a bite of food, ate sensibly, and pulled a sip of beer off his bottle. He slid a tablet off the shelf and propped it on the table, looking up Jim's police profile.

"You're an orphan," the older man announced, scanning through a file. "You failed the judge test when you were a kid. Too empathetic for judgework."

Jim nodded, smearing his mouth with his napkin and draining the soda in one big gulp. "Is there any more?" he asked.

Joe's eyebrows rose up. He looked into his own bowl and slid it over to the kid. His stomach wasn't sitting right anyhow.

"You sure?" Jim asked, a forkful already in his mouth.

Joe turned off the tablet and placed it back in its place and slouched down into his chair, sipping his beer.

When Jim finished he took the dishes up to the sink and turned the water on over them. He looked back at Joe, their eyes catching, and then darting away. Joe's frown deepened into his cheeks. A crooked smirk ran up the side of Jim's youthful face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Housepest: Chapter 2**

Jim washed the dishes after their meal while Joe watched and drank another beer, listening to the kid prattle on. He seemed so comfortable, so quickly, rummaging through the cabinets to discover where the clean dishes were kept. All the while, Jim seemed to be moving to music in his head, his hips rotating to an inaudible tune, his stocking feet sliding on the smooth floor, twisting at the ankles. The whole spectacle made Joe feel awkward but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"So what is the plan?" Jim asked, slipping the pan into the hot soapy water and scrubbing at it. His hands were a little red to the wrist from the heat of the water. He kept scrubbing and slid his eyes to Dredd, waiting.

Joe realized he was expected to speak and tugged at his shirt front in discomfort. For the last hour, the kid had been going on and on about the stars. He'd read about them in books but had never seen a single one thanks to the thick smog and light pollution in the city. All he wanted was to see the stars. He wouldn't shut up about it. But now, those blue eyes were focused on Joe, those full lips finally still.

"My couch turns into a bed," Joe said finally, his eyes shifting off to the side. He was certain that was not the answer Jim was looking for but it was the best he could come up with for now. He hadn't thought very far ahead when he dragged the kid back to his place.

The kid let loose a loud long whistle, "Fannn-ceee," he exclaimed. The judge was ill equipped to tell if Jim was being sarcastic or not.

Jim dried the pan and stuck it in the lower cabinet then unplugged the sink. The water sucked down the drain while the blond man wiped the counters off until the kitchen looked as pristine as it was when they had arrived earlier that evening.

"Perfect," he said, admiring his handiwork with a look of accomplishment. He opened the fridge, pulled a beer out and popped it, and then sat down across from the older man.

There was nothing but silence between them for the first half of Jim's beer and then he spoke up, "Have you seen them, Joe? The stars."

Dredd ran a finger across the scratchy, days' worth of stumble under his chin, "No," he said finally.

Jim nodded in disappointment, then tapped on the book he had left on the table, sliding it over to Joe. "I think you'll like it."

He placed his fingers on the dog-eared book, brushing against Jim's hand gently. He picked up the book and looked at it. He couldn't remember the last time he read a book that wasn't the Lawgiver. He set it back down on the table, his eyes looked greener than brown when he looked up at Jim. "I have an extra toothbrush," he got up and shoved his chair back up against the table.

Jim tipped his beer back and followed. Dredd handed him a toothbrush in a plastic bag and left him in the bathroom to get ready for bed. He went to the small sitting room that barely saw any use and pulled the couch cushions off, dragging the mattress out from the base and unfurling it. The plastic wrap was still on the mattress so he ripped it open and pulled it off, wadding it up and stuffing it down the garbage chute.

Done in the bathroom, Jim silently fell into place, helping Joe put the sheets on the bed. He shook the pillow into the case and tossed it at the head of the bed. They spread the blankets over the sheets and Jim nodded in approval. "You know this may be the nicest bed I've ever slept in," he said it with a straight face and a genuine smile.

The scowl on Dredd's face softened and deepened at the same time, becoming a frown. This is why he hated the city. Young men living their lives so squalid and rough that they split at the seams over a shitty plastic mattress on a bar frame.

Joe nodded, turned around, and stalked out of the room.

"Woah hey," Jim said, running to catch up and putting a hand on his shoulder, "Are you going to bed?"

The touch made Joe stiffen his shoulders. He looked back at the kid, and nodded. It was almost hard to look at Jim; it was like staring into a light bulb or the sun. His carefree attitude seemed unearned in this grud-forsaken hellhole and yet his teeth gleamed glossy in his curved smile and his eyes were like pure blue glaciers.

"Well, aren't you gonna say goodnight?"

Joe shrugged away from his hand and went into his bedroom and closed the door. Jim watched him go, his eyes catching on the book still left on the table.

. . . . . . . .

_Decisions, Actions, Consequences. ___

_Decisions, Actions, Consequences. ___

The three words droned through Joe's mind as he churned in his bed. They were words he'd lived his life by up until this point. He needed to sleep so he could work tomorrow but his mind was worrying him over the boy snoring softly on his couch. He rocked up in the bed and looked at the clock on his bed stand. Two in the drokking morning. The cold floor assaulted his naked feet and he got up and went to the kitchen.

He opened the fridge door and grabbed the carton of milk, popping the cap off and tipping it back. He drank several gulps directly from the opening, snapped the cap back on, and set it back in the fridge. When he closed the door, he jumped slightly at Jim Kirk who was standing there, leaning against the wall in his sweatpants and nothing else, arms folded over his chest. As skinny as he was, he still looked muscular. "Stomm, kid!"

"Can't sleep?" Jim asked, his blue eyes looked soft from dreaming.

Joe wiped his forearm across his mouth, smearing off his milk mustache. He thought of ten things to say but his lips fused. He wanted to touch Jim, felt his fingers twitch. _Decisions, Actions, Consequences. _His hands froze. __

The blond, pillow-matted head tilted curiously. He raised his hand to touch Joe's face, his thumb brushing his cheek tenderly. There was a slight buzz from the overhead lights in the kitchen which were still warming up.

Joe leaned his face into the soft, warm palm, his eyelids slipping shut and his mouth relaxing gently.

_Decisions, Actions, Consequences. ___

He took a sudden step back and cracked his neck to each side. "I'll be gone before you're up in the morning. Stay inside, tomorrow."

Jim looked put out, "What time do you get up, I'll make you breakfast."

Dredd nodded then remembered the kitchen in Jim's apartment, "You stay away from the stove, kid," he menaced.

That side-smirk reappeared and Jim nodded. He didn't want to tell Dredd that the fires in his kitchen weren't from food prep. Years of living on his own had turned him into a decent cook. Skill is often bred of necessity. The fire came from chemical experiments gone awry; the kind of experiments that could land a man in the cubes for a good long while. With a deep sigh, he watched the tortured, older man stalk back to his bedroom, snapping the lights down in the kitchen and leaving Jim alone in the dark. He padded back to his couch and dove into the blankets, willing away the semi-erection that loomed in his borrowed pants.

Dredd sat on the edge of his bed and ran hard fingers up through his short hair, massaging his prickly scalp. Finally, he swung his legs up and laid back down into his pillow.

_Decisions, Actions, Consequences. ___

His hands pawed up his shirt, sliding up his ribs, then back down, under the soft waist of his pants, seizing his stiff cock. Sexual scenarios rocketed through his mind, all of them somewhat familiar but with a new star of the show. Jim drooling around his dick, Jim bent on the kitchen table, Jim's hands twisting his sheets, squeezing the malleable globes of Jim's bubbled ass in his hands, Jim in the shower, on the bed, the couch, up against the cold wall. Jim. Jim. Jim.

He came up over his hands and into the front of his pants, winded and spent.

He scanned the thin little window as a drone flew by, the lights catching in his eyes.

_Decisions, Actions, Consequences. ___

He wasn't gonna get another drokking wink tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Housepest: Chapter 3**

Dredd woke to the smell of bacon and something sweet. He sat up in his bed and scratched at his scalp. What little sleep he did get was fraught and sweaty. _Jim must be making breakfast_, he thought. Then his brain woke up enough that his eyes popped wide in terror and he ran to the kitchen to put out the fire.

"Mornin'," Jim sang, "You're up just a smidge early, but sit down."

The judge, stern and stiff, made no motion to sit. "Didn't I say to stay out of the kitchen?" he growled.

Jim poured a cup of coffee and correctly assumed Joe took it black. He handed the hot mug to Dredd, locking the bedheaded bully in his blue eyes. "I can cook," he assured, "My kitchen burned down when there wasn't any food in sight. Trust me."

Joe took the cup of coffee and looked at it in his hand, trying to decide what he ought to do. He didn't like his instructions being ignored, but standing there in his bare feet, holding a cup of coffee, he felt ridiculous. He was in his dirty pajamas-the thought reminded him to sit down quickly-and there was no entry in the Lawgiver explaining what he ought to do when someone gets up early to cook him breakfast.

The smile on Jim's face when Dredd took his chair was one of victory and it irked the gruff lawman.

"I hope you're hungry," Jim said, scrapping a heap of scrambled eggs onto a plate just as the toast rose in the toaster. Watching the kid butter the bread, Dredd realized he was famished.

Jim stacked several strips of bacon, cooked until it was so crispy it was rigid, onto the plate and delivered it to the waiting man. He had a thin dish towel slung over his shoulder and leaned one hand on the table to catch the judge's eyes with his own, "What do you need? Ketchup? Salt? syrup?"

Dredd stabbed at the eggs and took a bite. It was surprisingly great. He shook his head at Jim.

Jim cupped a hand behind his own ear and leaned in, "Can't hear ya," he said.

"M'fine," Dredd croaked out begrudgingly, stuffing a strip of bacon in his mouth.

"Good," he rapped on the table, "I like it when you talk to me." Jim plated his own breakfast up and joined Dredd at the table. "I have some questions."

"How did you know when I was getting up?" Dredd asked, his mouth full of toast. If anyone was asking questions, it was going to be him.

"Your alarm clock," Jim said, hiding a blush, "You look so peaceful when you're asleep."

Dredd's fork prongs hit his plate hard and he paused his eating to stare holes through Jim's face.

Jim quickly changed the subject, "When are you sending me back to my place? Because the longer I am away, the more likely it is that someone will take my apartment."

If the question shocked Joe, he didn't show it. "Sleep okay?" he finally asked.

"Of course," Jim said, his brow furrowed in annoyance.

Dredd drank in the new expression with the closest thing to mirth he could muster. "I don't want you going back there. You can stay here."

Jim looked down at his plate and breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. That was what he was hoping for, in his heart. He had asked before and didn't get a straight answer, but had to know, "Why? Why are you doing this for me?"

Shifting in his chair uncomfortably, Dredd looked up at last, actually looking at the young man. Then, infuriatingly, he pulled his shoulders up into a shrug.

Jim slammed his fist on the table, making the plates bounce. Joe didn't so much as blink let alone flinch. "Can you talk to me, please?" Jim demanded, "Am I here as your prisoner or your roommate? Do you want us to be lovers? Friends? Enemies? _What?_"

"I don't know," Dredd fired back, getting up and kicking his chair back against the wall. He stormed off to go get ready for work. His plate was clean.

Jim's face pursed in frustration and he ate a few more bites of his own food before deciding it was tiresome and throwing his fork down. He flexed his hand, remembering the way Joe's stubbled face had nestled against it in the wee hours of the morning. The way the harsh man had closed his eyes for a split second and enjoyed the touch. Jim made a decision and to hell with the consequences.

When Joe emerged in his gear, his ward was finishing the dishes. When he saw Joe in his weather-worn uniform, Jim's throat ran dry. Joe was a different man when he wore it, he was a symbol that Jim couldn't completely agree with, but damn if it didn't hug that body in all the right ways.

As he pulled his helmet down over his head, Jim saw small patches in the leather where bullets had torn through the fabric. It sobered him, the smile melting off his face, "Be careful out there."

Dredd nodded.

"If you leave me some money, I can go grocery shopping," Jim added quickly. He hated that he had to ask for money to do the shopping, but he had nothing with him here. Or, if he was being honest, at his apartment.

"Stay in the apartment," Dredd instructed. "Don't leave. Got that?"

Jim nodded. This was okay for today, he supposed.

Dredd turned to leave, his gloved hand on the door handle, and Jim shouted, "Wait!" Dredd turned and without warning Jim pressed his lips into the judge's. Joe smelled like leather and aftershave. Jim's forehead bumped against the helmet.

When Jim broke away, rubbing his head from the clonk, Joe stood there for a quiet moment and then grabbed the door and left.

Jim stood in the kitchen, the taste of Dredd's mouth still on his lips, the aftershave clinging to his nose. He felt a tingle of excitement that the judge had kissed him back. He went into the bedroom and fell into Dredd's perfectly made bed, inhaling the scent of the pillow and sinking into the foam mattress.

He rolled onto his back and looked to the side. The book he gave Joe was sitting on the bedstand. He smiled deep and hugged his own shoulders.

Jim had had a rough life thus far. If not for the ability to escape into his books, he wasn't sure he'd even be alive. Even with his books everything seemed geared toward a life of pain and struggle that would inevitably end in the cubes. The only thing preventing that end was Joseph Dredd. Jim had to think long and hard about that.

Undoubtedly, he was attracted to the rugged, gruff man whose intense green eyes betrayed an anger and sadness from deep within. Jim wanted to soothe him, to draw him out. For the first time in his life, as he lie in Joe's sterile bed in his boring apartment, Jim thought of something he wanted to see more than the stars. He wanted to see Joseph Dredd laugh. It was a goal as impossible as seeing the Milky Way but Jim was determined to make both happen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Housepest: Chapter 4**

Waiting for Joe to get home for the day was a new kind of hell. Jim had snooped through literally every drawer, cupboard and medicine cabinet at least twice in the past two consecutive days of being holed up in the bleak apartment during the better part of the day. He took inventory of the fridge and came up with two separate meal plans for dinner. He flipped through the dog-eared book of laws on Joe's shelf but it only made him angry and bored. He missed his books and wondered if any of them were still there in his old apartment. It took him a lifetime to build that collection.

Jim made his bed and shoved it back into the couch then sat on it. He took up the remote and turned the television on. Every station he flipped to featured news from one area of Mega City One or another under siege, on fire, in despair. There were high speed police chases and bloody, graphic murder scenes. It made his heart clench with fear for Joe who was out in the middle of the fray, attempting to drive order and justice between the frightened citizens and the ruthless criminals. He pointed the remote at the TV and turned it off, tossing the clicker to the floor in disgust.

Hugging his legs to his chest, he hitched out a sigh. He loved feeling safe away from the terror of the world, but he couldn't do this without his books. They were his saving grace. He adored the smell of their pages and the texture of the paper and the covers under his fingertips. The way they painted pictures of long forgotten or new worlds and gave his mind a place to play and rest was important to his mental wellbeing. He'd begged, borrowed and stole for his collection and he needed it to help him escape the outside world and the worrying that plagued his mind.

Curled in a ball, attempting to soothe his mind and forget about the lost books, he thought about the stars and what they might look like. When a person saw the light of a star, they were seeing light that had traveled for many years, so many that the star might be gone entirely. Every star was a glimpse into the past. From what he had read, the world before the radiation, the fall out, and the mega cities, was a pretty wonderful place. He thought about this while slumped onto the couch and made a bold decision.

He had to go and rescue some of his books. He had to save that knowledge lest the pages be used as rolling papers. If he was fast, he could be back before Joe.

Jim stood up steeled himself, clapped his hands once as if confirming his determination, and went in search of his sneakers. He looked under the bed and in every closet and drawer. He'd been over every nook of the apartment that very morning. As he began to face the fact that his sneakers were simply gone, he began to wonder if Joe had taken them on purpose to keep him from leaving. The thought made his mind go supernova. How dare he tell Jim he isn't a prisoner and then take away his resources.

Jim made fists and stomped to Joe's bedroom, flinging open the panels to his closet. He scanned the floor for shoes and found one pair of worn looking boots. They had emblems on them. He stuffed his feet into them and laced them up. It was his luck that while snooping, he'd found the spare key cards to the apartment. He stuffed them in his back pocket and went to the door, more determined than ever to show Joe Dredd that he wasn't a glass figurine to sit on a shelf. He was street savvy. He'd survived on his own his whole grud-forsaken life.

He opened the door and saw a swarm of Judges in the hall and promptly shut it again.

_Okay. _He leaned his back into the cold metal and breathed hard. _So many judges_.

He couldn't go out there wearing these government issued boots. Even without the boots, he wasn't sure he could answer their questions if anyone asked him who he was or what he was doing.

He thought hard and the answer dawned on him. His anger-addled mind accepted his solution eagerly. He clomped back to the bedroom in the boots and yanked Dredd's spare uniform out of the panel where it was situated. He grunted at how heavy the leather shell jacket was. Jim slid one arm into the sleeve and then the other and zipped it up over the cotton t-shirt joe had let him borrow. He was about the same height as Joe, so the length was good, but he was pronouncedly scrawnier. His hips were narrow and the notches of his spine were visible when he bent or stretched. His arms swam in the sleeves.

The pants were next, even looser so that Jim had to tighten the belt as much as it would go just to have it catch. He was grateful he filled them out enough in the back to keep the pants from slipping right off.

He sat and pulled the boots back on, the smell of leather and exhaust, mixed with the spicy undertone of Joe's own scent wafted through his nostrils with each crease and movement of the uniform.

Finally, Jim stood up and reached for the spare helmet that hung on the wall. He turned the heavy head gear in his hands, noticing that it was scuffed and dirty, dented from a bullet or something similar. Jim lowered the helmet on to his head and was surprised by how well he could see through the dark visor.

He went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked pretty good. His face needed to be tanner, and his neck looked a little thin. He wished he had a little scruff on his chin, but the badge on his jacket said 'Dredd' in thick block letters. Time was precious and the day was waning, but he spent a few minutes practicing the look of miserable anger that Dredd kept plastered on his otherwise-handsome, heart-shaped face. In this getup, he had to get back before Joe or he'd be toast.

He strode to the apartment door, checking to ensure he had everything he needed before using the key cards to open it.

He had to remember to look and act like Dredd. He straightened his spine, squared his shoulders, and pulled the corners of his lips down into a trademark scowl. He adjusted his belt and strode confidently into the hall.

Confident was a relative term. Jim frowned menacingly and walked with purpose. But under the suit his body was leaking nervous sweat from fear. He felt big drops rolling down between his shoulder blades and pooled into the dip above his ass. He entered the elevator and saw that others opted to wait for the next one. Joe's famous disposition even made him an outcast amongst his peers.

When the elevator started to move, Jim felt his intestines turn to liquid. He knew this was a terrible idea. However, he had already taken the first steps and there was no backing down now.

Jim made it all the way out of the block without a single person talking to him or even looking at him sideways. Once he was out in the sun, he felt like he was trapped in the leather outfit. He tugged at his collar and pulled out his cards. He still had a bus pass with him so he made his way to the nearest stop. He wasn't sure if Judge Dredd had ever ridden on public transportation, or if _any_ judge had, for that matter.

When the filthy, graffiti-coated bus rolled up, a thick puff of exhaust coughing out of the pipes, Jim stepped up to the door and climbed aboard. The bus driver refused his payment, waving him on with eyes like saucers. The other passengers curled in their seats at the sight of him. Jim had been on the bus hundreds of times and he'd never seen people huddle away in fear. He sat down on a bench near the front and watched people scurry to the back to get away from him. Shaking his head, he looked out the window, his helmet clunking against the glass.

Behind him, he heard whispers of, "It's not any judge, that is judge _Dredd_!"

It made Jim sad, which was good because he was fast forgetting to maintain a scowl. Joe wasn't such a bad guy.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Judge Dredd, the _real _judge Dredd, was stepping on the neck of a perp while he zipped the offender's hands together in the small of his back. He dragged the young man to his feet and tossed him against the wall to wait with his friends who were already zipped and leaning into the cement brick.

He pulled his fist up to his mouth and turned on his uplink to control and rasped out, "Got four for the cubes at my current location."

"Which location, Dredd? We're reading two." control replied, forcing Joe's plump lips to contort in surprise.

He paused to think, his mind exploding with the ramifications of this question. He pulled his wrist back up to his mouth and barked out the name of the block he was visiting.

"Copy that, Dredd," Control responded.

After incapacitated his four perps he turned on his heels. A second signal meant that someone was wearing his other helmet. He made his way to lawmaster as quickly as he could without running, even though he knew Jim was probably just wearing his helmet around the apartment. He'd have a little talk with him about it.

When he punched his own identifier into the screen on his lawmaster, he saw his current location blink to life. He looked toward his home block for the second signal but it didn't come. Instead, he saw a blip on the screen moving swiftly down a main city vein.

Operating his daily life with a measured amount of anger was completely normal for Joseph Dredd. He could seeth his way through something as basic as brushing his teeth as easily as he could calmly dispatch criminals worthy of the punishment. The fury that shuddered through his body at this moment was completely foreign to him. He was glad he was straddling his lawmaster, because his legs would no longer support him. He sat on his bike, his hands sweating and his neck swelling with red blotches. He couldn't even see straight, the world was blurred. He'd been shot clear through parts of his body and felt less pissed off than he did in this very moment.

Finally, Dredd pulled himself into some semblance of order by remembering that the penalty for impersonating a judge was thirty years _mandatory_. If Jim was wearing his helmet in public, he had to reach the little fool before someone else did. Heart kicking against his ribs, he revved Lawmaster into gear and headed for the fucking blinking light.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jim was in over his head. The bus was traveling along the main drag and there was a man, drugged out of his mind on too much slo-mo, harassing the other passengers. Jim used to make slo-mo in his apartment as was dictated by the gang leaders on his floor. He knew what happened to the brain on too much of the amazing neuro-drug. Become burnt out on the inhaler, and the world goes half-pace perpetually and it eats away at the mind like a crank gear pencil sharpener on a chewed up number two. This guy was nothing but a nub.

He was shuddering and ranting, brandishing a knife. His lips were burnt from the inhaler. He burbled at the other bus passengers despite several warnings from the bus driver. Finally someone shouted, "For the love of grud, help us, Judge!"

Jim agreed, they needed the help of a judge. Then he realized he _was_ judge they were beseeching for help.

He didn't have a weapon. Or the knowledge or training to deal with this situation. Not to mention, this guy was out of his gourd on drugs and three times larger than Jim in seemingly every direction. He stood up slowly and said in his sternest voice, "Sit down, citizen."

The man turned on Jim, sizing him up. His glassy, sparkling, slo-mo addled eyes roved Jim's uniformed body. He puffed out his chest but forgot to pull his mouth down. Instead chewing on his bottom lip painfully. The addict hopped his blade from one hand to the next, asking the Judge in a garbled tone, due to his time distortion, "You wanna dance, Judge?"

Jim didn't want to dance. He wanted to ride the bus undisturbed, get some of his books somehow, and make it home in time to peel out of this uniform before Joseph Dredd came in the door. Ideally, he'd like to have dinner on the table, as well. This knife-wielding hop-head was putting a kink in his already precariously timed schedule.

Jim scanned his brain for what a judge might say. Joe might say, _put the knife down, creep _or _threatening people with a weapon, a million hours in a cube!_ Jim shook his head. He really wasn't cut out for this. His hands fumbled across his utility belt, his too-large gloves turning his fingers stupid and slow. He dove to the side in time to avoid a wild thrust, the knife narrowly missing him and stabbing into the bus seat instead.

While the man wrestled to yank the knife out of the seat, Jim, while gulping at the air for breath, loosed a canister of pepper spray from his belt and pointed it at the large assailant. The super concentrated spray coated the man's face and he screamed in pain, abandoning his knife to rub furiously and unproductively at his searing eyes. The little closed bus was overcome with the fumes of the spray. Jim felt his own eyes begin to tear up and the spice entered his nose like a sharp stick.

The bus driver was forced to veer off the road. All the passengers swayed and nearly fell over. Once the doors opened, everyone ran off the bus except the slo-mo addict who dug at his eyes still while shouting.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Jim said frantically, trying to help the man now that the bus was empty except for him.

"I'll kill you, judge!" the man said, pawing at the air dangerously close to Jim. There was a crowd forming around the bus. Jim knew one of the flying news droids might be attracted to this scene and he began to panic. He didn't need this to be on the television. His nose ached, his eyes wept in the spiced air, and he fully regretted the last three hours of his miserable, inconsequential life.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Dredd turned the corner on Lawmaster and sped toward the mob of people standing around the bus that was bumped half up onto the sidewalk. His first thought was that something terrible had happened to Jim. Worry was another new emotion for him, he wasn't sure what he was feeling, so he turned it into anger. If Jim Kirk was on that bus, and he wasn't dead, Dredd was going to kill him.

"Bike," he rasped, pulling to a halt right behind the bus, "Initiate crowd control."

The Lawmaster began to instruct the crowd to move back in a robotic female voice. Dredd opened the bus door and immediately turned his head as a wave of pungent air assaulted his face. He pushed past it and found the big man sitting on a bus seat, his eyes bright red and soldered shut with gluey tears and swollen eyelids, more tears draining his face. A knife stuck in the plastic seat in front of him. Dredd snapped the dagger from the seat and closed it, tucking it into his belt.

He looked around and walked to the front of the bus where he found a judge on the floor, his helmeted head tucked down, his legs and arms wrapped into a little ball.

"Jim?" Dredd asked, staring down at the pathetic creature in front of him.

Jim lifted his heavy, helmeted head at the sound of Joe's voice. For a few glorious seconds, his heart leapt for joy. He was saved. He latched gleefully onto Dredd's leather-clad leg.

Joe sneered down at him. Jim lifted his head and looked up at Joe through the vizor. He swallowed hard and let go of Dredd's leg cautiously, flinching as the older man reached down and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, dragging him up to his feet.

"Joe, I-" Jim chokingly began. Tears, not all of them from the spice, leaked under his chin, down his neck and disappeared into the field jacket he wore.

Joe prodded him toward the exit, disinterested in anything he might have to say. Before going he zipped the big man to the railing of the bus and called on his com, "Control, one for the cubes, current location."

He paused a moment looking at Jim in his helmet. Jim was tall, too and would almost look like a real judge if his suit fit his waist and his face wasn't sloppy with tears.

He grimaced and added to control, "My current location for both signals."

"Copy," control informed.

Dredd walked Jim off the bus, looking at the crowd that now stood at a proper distance thanks to the lawmaster's threats. Joe climbed onto his bike and stopped the program telling people to stay back. He looked at Jim expectantly and watched with a stoic grimace as the kid climbed onto the back of the bike, his arms locking instinctively around Joe's torso.

They took off down the road. Even at the high speed on the bike and through the thick layers of hot, malleable leather, Jim could feel Joe's wrath.

Jim laid his face on Dredd's back, enjoying what may very well be his last embrace. He felt Joe's muscles tense beneath him. It was obvious that things were about to get ugly, so he closed his weary, aching eyes and squeezed his arms tighter around the sturdy, brawny man in front of him.

* * *

**_So things are heating up a bit, ne?_**

**_Jim Jim Jim._**

**_Soooo, do you know me well enough to know what is coming next week?  
_**


	5. Chapter 5

**Housepest 5**

Walking side by side through the parking garage, not touching, in their matching uniforms, it would have been hard to tell which man was the real Dredd if Jim's suit wasn't loose on him and his shoulders weren't slumped in defeat. He walked on numb feet, feeling the seething anger emanating from the man beside him. It was a cool boil of fury and control and Jim had never been so terrified in his entire life. He knew what was coming. Dredd would break his nose, maybe his arm. He'd force him to strip off the uniform and then throw him in the cubes for the rest of his miserable, inconsequential life for impersonating a judge.

Jim didn't even cry when he thought about it. He felt too guilty to weep for himself. Joe took him in, gave him a nice place to sleep, food in his belly, and he took advantage. He was lower than dirt and he deserved anything and everything the judge could bring down upon his criminal soul. The elevator ride up was tense and Jim edged close to the wall as they rose, uninterrupted, to the forty-fourth floor.

Joe unlocked the door to his apartment and waited for Jim to step inside. Jim took a deep breath and entered. He stood in the middle of the kitchen and took off the borrowed helmet, setting it on the counter. His blond hair was glittering with sweat and he hung his head and waited for the inevitable.

He felt a heavy hand on the scruff of his neck and Joe tossed him forward roughly so he landed on the small dining table, his waist knocking into the edge and his torso and arms crashing into the flat surface hap hazardously. As he struggled to get up, he brushed a cup to the floor where it shattered at his booted feet. Before he could stand, Joe came over and put a hand on the back of his head, pinning his face to the table top.

"What were you thinking?" He demanded, his voice had all the qualities of a knife sliding against whetstone. "You could have been killed. This uniform is a symbol of law but it is also a target. You could have been picked up by another judge, kid."

_Kid _popped into Jim's head as the first sign of hope. Kid was, as far as he could tell, Joe's term of endearment for him. A term of endearment had no place in this frightening situation. He struggled against the tabletop, his chest flat and his boots only able to tap the ground with his toes.

"I wanted to get my books," Jim found his voice at last, muffled by the table and his own inconsistent breathing.

"Books?" Dredd choked out, rage crowding his voice, making the word terse and strangled.

Joe's hand lifted off Jim's head and instead pressed into the small of his back. His other hand seized the back hem of the leather pants Jim was wearing. They were loose and he yanked them down easily to the middle of the young man's milky thighs. His underwear, tacky with sweat, clung to the pants and pulled off with leathers.

Jim was terrified. Joe Dredd was going to have his way with him before sending him to the cubes. He'd imagined being with Joe sexually since the first day he met him, daring to fantasize about the little details. Working through scenarios that might initiate the sexual encounter. None of the fairy tales he told himself, with his own hand thumbing tight around his cock, involved him being forced.

He bit his lip and felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes. They dripped off his face and created a puddle on the table before him.

Then he felt the full force of Joe's gloved hand on his backside, pushing him forward into the table all the more. The stinging swat sent a jolt of awareness through him and the second one, on his opposite cheek, was equally surprising. When the third blow came, over the top of the previous one, Jim gasped in pain. Instinctively, he threw his right arm back to shield himself from the attack, covering as much of his own ass as he could with his splayed hand. Joe seized his wrist in an iron grip and twisted his arm back behind him, pinning Jim's hand in the small of his back before continuing the brutal assault. The hold on his wrist hurt and he was powerless to break free.

After what seemed like an eternity of squirming beneath the unrelenting onslaught of firm, swift swats, Jim sobbed openly into the small, salty lake now forming under his ruddy face. When Joe finally stopped spanking him, he placed his leather-clad hand on Jim's punished ass and rubbed over it slowly to soothe him. He let Jim go and watched as the kid sank to his knees, just out of the way of the shards of glass from the broken cup. Jim cried with his forehead against the cool metal edge of the table. His right hand on his own ass, feeling the tremendous heat that radiated from the disciplined skin.

Joe drew two bottles of water from the fridge, setting one in front of Jim with a thud. Jim took the bottle in a shaky grip and rolled it along his burning forehead. Joe took a long gulp from his bottle, leaning his back against the counter and watching Jim cry. The loose uniform looked ridiculous on him now more than ever. From this vantage point, Joe couldn't help but notice how round and perfect Jim's shapely behind was. Seeing the kid cry so hard had calmed him considerably. When he'd had enough, he set the water down and stalked over, dragging Jim to his feet and turning him around.

Those blue eyes looked even deeper full of tears and rimmed in red. His nose was running and his tears streaked through the dirt on his face, the residue of the city that clung to the skin. Jim looked at him, his lips trembled out a nearly inaudible, "S-sorry, Joe."

Joe took his helmet off, revealing his own frightened eyes. Nothing could have surprised Jim more than that sight.

"If anyone else had found you first, they would have taken you from me," he explained, his voice still made of heavy metals, but softer now, somehow. He still broadcast justifiable anger and sincere worry on his softly quaking lips.

Fresh tears escaped Jim's eyes, his mouth hung open like a trap. He was furious with himself for putting the older man through this.

Joe slid his hands into Jim's hair and pulled him close, kissing him deeply. His tongue insistent and strong along the hot, wet walls of Jim's mouth.

Joe's radio was squawking noisily. He broke away from Jim and stepped back to his water on the counter. He turned his head to the side, not really looking at Jim, but projecting his voice out to him. "Drink that water. Put the suit back exactly how you found it. Clean up that glass. Don't leave this apartment unless it's on fire."

Jim nodded in understanding and fumbled for Joe's helmet, holding it out to him. Joe took it and placed it back on his head, adjusting his belt and checking his gun. He paused in front of Jim a moment, just looking at him, then he turned with military grace and left the apartment.

Once the door shut, Jim fell once more to his knees and leaned forward, pressing his forehead into the cool floor. His still exposed ass throbbed like nothing he'd ever experienced before, his body was sweaty and trapped in the filthy leather outfit.

Heart racing, he could still taste Joe's mouth on his own and he could feel his hands on his body, see that look of terror and relief in his eyes.

When he felt capable of getting up, Jim raised to his feet and went into the bedroom to strip out of the borrowed uniform. He left it in clumps on the floor for now, standing naked in the cooling air of Joe's dark bedroom. He hissed through his teeth as he touched his ass and looked in the mirror. His skin was bright red and he traced the pink outline of fingers near his hips and on the upper part of his thighs.

The sweat on his body dried quickly, sending shivers of goose-bumps across his skin. He felt grimey and sore. Wracked with guilt, he took the time to hang up the suit in Dredd's closet, careful to leave it more or less as he found it. Every bend and twist of his waist or hips made his backside radiate with searing pain. He peeled off his soaked clothing, unwilling to pull his underwear up over his tormented behind.

Naked and miserable, Jim padded into the bathroom and drew himself a nice hot bath and sunk down into the water with a hiss, finally resting his head back and dropping a washcloth over his eyes. Fresh, furious tears found him in the humid solitude of the bathroom.

Utterly exhausted Jim left the tub to drain and rubbed at himself ruefully with a towel. Seeking comfort and still soaking wet, he climbed into the bed, pressing his face into Joe's pillows and inhaling deep the sediment of his scent. Pulling out the perfectly folded corners of the top sheet as he twisted, cocooning in the blankets, sleep found Jim easily.

. . . . . .

Joe saddled onto Lawmaker and checked back in with control. He flexed his right hand a few times. It actually hurt. If his palm hurt like this even with the protection of his thick, leather glove, then Jim must be in terrible pain.

"Good," he said aloud to himself, nodding, and took off on his own patrol mission.

As he sped along, his mind couldn't unlatch itself from thoughts of Jim. He'd basically declared his love for the blue-eyed menace in the most unconventional way possible. However much he loved Jim though, he couldn't keep him prisoner in his apartment forever. He made a decision and turned lawmaster in the direction of Jim's old block.

Walking through the block, Dredd watched people scatter. The unemployment rate for this complex was staggering and it was famous for drugs and gang violence. Dredd flexed his fists as he passed a myriad of infractions on his way to Jim's floor.

He opened the door to Jim's apartment and found three young men sitting on the mattress in the middle of the floor, tattooed and drugged out of their mind. They were shouting when the door kicked open but when they saw that the offender was a judge, they silenced themselves very quickly. "Out," Dredd rasped, watching them scramble gratefully past him and out the door.

He looked around the sty of an apartment. It had been ransacked thoroughly. Only a few old wire hangers hung in the closet, the kitchen drawers had been torn out and turned over. Books were strewn across the floor, trampled and torn in front of the open fridge. Even floor boards had been pried up and removed from the rotting space. Joe closed the door behind him and tapped at his transmitter so he could make a personal call.


	6. Chapter 6

**Housepest Chapter 6**

The sound of the heavy door woke Jim and he listened to the locks sliding through their hinges, smooth and metallic. He was hugging Joe's pillow, his tummy pressed into the mattress and his eyes burning from crying himself to sleep. When he rolled onto his back to sit up, he gasped as his ass came into contact with the bed. Running shaking fingers over the painful skin that still felt like hot coals, Jim hissed.

It dawned on him suddenly that he was naked in Joe's bed and that the man had just come home. He scrambled to his feet, looking for something to wear. He grabbed his underwear up off the floor from where they had been discarded before his bath. They were rolled tight and still heavy and damp with sweat. He dropped them into the hamper and turned his attention to Dredd's dresser, borrowing a pair of underwear and steeling himself, grimacing as he stepped into them and pulled them up over his backside. He knew the stretchy cotton was good quality, but the boxer briefs felt like they were made out of steel wool on his punished skin. He dug for a pair of soft pants and a t-shirt, as well, dressing quickly, forcing himself to block out the pain.

Jim looked at the messy bed and scrambled to straighten out the blankets, beating the pillows flat and snapping the sheets straight. He smoothed one hand over the comforter and looked at his handiwork. Nothing close to the neat, perfect job Dredd did every morning.

He frowned and added the messy bed to his laundry list of guilt.

For now, he wanted to get to the kitchen and make dinner. It was the least he could do and he desperately wanted Joe to talk to him. He didn't like that the man was cross with him, even if he deserved it. If he could initiate a conversation, perhaps he would get the chance to properly explain himself. Also-he paused only a moment to brush his lips with the tips of his fingers-he needed to know what the kiss had meant to Joe. As he stepped out of the bedroom, his ruddy eyes and messy hair snitched on him.

Joe was on the floor picking up large shards of glass; a broom was leaning against the wall. Jim cringed, "I meant to get that," he said lamely.

Joe just gave him a hard look and dropped the glass into the garbage with a clatter. He looked sweaty and annoyed. "Stay back!" Joe warned, "Glass all over the floor." He was pointing at Jim's bare feet.

"Just need to get to the fridge," Jim said, trying to skirt the room carefully on his toes. Joe rose angrily and picked Jim up off the floor by his waist, setting him down hard on the kitchen counter. The movement between them gave Jim a noseful of the other man's sharp scent.

Jim gasped as his ass came in hard contact with the countertop. He gripped at the edge of the counter in annoyance and fought with himself internally. If he wanted to step in glass, that was his own damn choice. Still, he squirmed there and didn't dare move until Joe finished cleaning up.

When the floor was carefully and thoroughly swept, Jim searched Joe's face for any emotion. He wanted to cling to him and beg for forgiveness. He also wanted to demand the right to explain himself. Instead, he watched Joe's greenish-brown eyes dart purposefully around the room. Having reached a silent and unshared conclusion, Joe picked up his helmet and stalked to the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Jim slid himself gingerly off the counter and winced, opening the fridge and starting dinner. Getting Joe to sit down and eat a meal with him might be his ticket to opening up the conversation. Also, after the day he had given Joe, the least Jim could do was fill his belly.

Joe set his helmet on the dresser and began peeling off his uniform. He felt grosser than usual. He noted that Jim had indeed been in his bed and the thought allowed a wave of sympathy for the kid to slip past the iron walls that held his heart. He quickly rejected the feeling, reminding himself of the panic that had seized him this morning. Even after giving the blond pest an extremely well-deserved spanking, Joe had felt his chest race with residual fear for the rest of the day. It was a feeling Dredd wasn't used to and he hated it. He was still boiling mad at Jim for causing it.

The shower was scalding hot when Joe stepped into the stream, letting the heat disinfect him, sloughing off the nervous sweat he'd accumulated mingling with the filth of the city air. Raking fingernails across his scalp and adding soap, he couldn't stop imagining Jim in the cubes, huddled, soiled, even skinnier if that was even possible. His blond hair dull and dark, his blue eyes run grey and sunken. The mental image made Joe's gut ache.

He kept thinking of ways the day could have gone worse. Jim could have been stabbed by that lunatic on the bus. He could have been mobbed by passengers on the public transport. There was no doubt in Joe's mind that control had sent someone to investigate the second signal in the field and if another judge had reached Jim first-he put his forehead against the tile. He had to calm down. He was shaking.

As he dried off, he listened carefully to the silence until he heard the oven door slam closed. The balloon of anxiety built up in his lungs slackened slightly and allowed him to breathe easier knowing Jim was still there. Of course he was, he had no where else to go. Still, part of Joe had worried that he'd come home to an empty apartment and Jim would be on the streets again.

He dressed himself and continued to attempt to cool down before facing the towheaded man in his kitchen. He stretched a black tanktop over his torso and stepped into his jeans, buckling his belt. He pulled in a deep breath of air through his nose and let it back out, squared his shoulders and entered the kitchen again. His mouth watered at the smell of the food cooking and Jim was at the stove, peeking over his shoulder at the larger man with a hopeful smile.

His belly spoke first, gurgled and groaned. He'd skipped lunch, having spent that time administering to his wayward...whatever Jim was.

"Dinner is almost ready," Jim said shyly.

Joe got a beer out of the fridge, noticing he was getting low. He'd need to shop bigger or more frequently if he was going to have Jim sticking around.

He bounced the cap off the beer and took a swig. His stomach shuddered in protest.

With the aid of an underused heat mitt, Jim pulled a glass pan out of the oven and used his heel to flip the door closed again. The chicken dish steamed as Jim sat it on the stove. He grabbed two plates and heaped the makeshift casserole on and then a generous portion of green beans from a steam pot. He cut a pad of butter and set it on top of the beans and added a roll to each plate from the breadbox. He loved having access to these ingredients but his stomach was a mess of nerves over this meal and he wasn't feeling very hungry.

Joe watched him plate the food impassively. Jim brought dinner to the table and looked at Joe, still trying to assess his mood. The off duty judge walked over slowly and sat down, his close proximity forcing a flux of nervous nausea to roll through Jim's stomach. His ass throbbed in memory of the last activity performed on this table.

He waited for Joe to pick up his utensils but the man was looking at him with intense green eyes, boring right through him. Joe gestured to the chair across from him where Jim's food was getting cold. Jim stared at the chair with displeasure, his mouth twisting. Finally he gingerly lowered himself onto the wooden surface, sucking in air through his teeth as he sat.

Joe had to stare at his food a moment. He couldn't believe Jim was actually making such a fuss. He almost chuckled to himself, but then he remembered that Jim had narrowly escaped a dagger to the ribs this same day and wondered how he would have coped with _that _pain, instead.

They ate in silence for a moment before Jim set his fork down, "We need to talk."

The green eyes that shifted up at him and fixed him in a cool glare were disarming. Joe took another bite, waiting to be enlightened.

Jim felt his breath hitch before he spoke, "I shouldn't have taken the suit."

Joe nodded slowly, in utter agreement. Jim never should have even looked at his uniform, let alone put it on to cavort around town.

"But-" Jim added cautiously, seeing Joe's eyes harden, "I had nothing I could go out in. You took me out of my home and left me with nothing and you took my shoes so I couldn't leave. I felt trapped. I panicked." Jim wished Joe would give him a cue or a hint, let him know that what he was saying was registering. Instead, he just sat there, watching.

"I know you saved me from the cubes last week, and you brought me here and honestly, I've never lived in such a nice place. But I had to leave my books and, Joe, I can't tell you how important they are to me."

The kid was getting choked up over books. Over paper and ink and cloth and glue. He risked his life and his freedom over words from a world that didn't even exist anymore. And he had big, wet tears in his beautiful eyes over it. Dredd couldn't take it, "Your food is getting cold, eat."

The words weren't pretty or even that nice, but they were like oxygen to Jim. He was so happy to hear Joe's rasping tone that he let the teardrops slip messily down his face. He obediently took a bite of food and smeared at his cheeks with his wrist. "I know today could have been unpleasant. I mean, more unpleasant."

_Unpleasant? _Joe felt his mind explode. "Thirty years in the cubes is more than unpleasant. A stab wound? Death?"

Jim filled his mouth again. Dredd ate too, taking too-big bites and continuing his constant, unnerving glower. He wanted to know that Jim understood that he wasn't mad because his uniform got dirty. He was _furious _because his decision to act on his impulse carried severe consequences.

"Decisions, actions, consequences," Joe added, his fork hitting the plate with each word.

"What?" Jim asked, surprised by the unsolicited conversation.

"Decisions, actions, consequences."

Jim wrinkled his nose. "_You_ decided to take my shoes, and that action had consequences." Almost immediately, Jim could tell it wasn't the right thing to say.

Both their plates bounced when Joe's fist hit the table.

Jim swallowed past his fear, fidgeting in his seat. His own boldness surprised him. It was the aftermath of his thought process while cooking. When he was making dinner in the cozy, warm, clean kitchen, with plenty of food and supplies, wearing Joe's clothing right down to the underwear, he came to a conclusion that Joe had seemingly not yet reached. The gruff, and a little too rough, judge cared about him. And Jim knew it.

"I was in over my head today. I didn't know what to do and I am glad you came to the bus and helped me," Jim said, "But we need to talk about things if I am going to stay here. I can't live in your clothes and wait for you by the door every day in my stocking feet." He paused, letting Joe hear him, taking his time. He saw the fist uncoil a little on the table.

"I like it here, Joe," Jim said, "I like you."

Joe's plate was empty. He stood up stiffly and took it to the sink and set it in the basin. He looked at the blue-eyed man who was smirking, honest to grud, smirking at him.

Jim stood up and brought his plate over too, standing close. "You kissed me," he swept a hand through his messy blond hair. Joe wanted to do that, too.

Instead, he walked around Jim and took another beer from the fridge. Only one left. He discarded the cap and drank deep, his eyes wandering to those plush, pliable lips beneath the swimming pool eyes.

He wanted to kiss Jim again.

"I bet you want to kiss me again," Jim said, a twitch of a smile on his lips, reading Joe's mind.

Scratch that. Joe Dredd wanted to spank him again.

Jim waited for the judge to react until it was awkward then sighed audibly and turned on the sink to wash the dishes. While he scrubbed, his smile ran away and his voice softened, "You know this really is the best place I've ever been, Joe. I only stayed in the system until I was determined unworthy of judgework. From that point on, I was on my own."

Joe leaned on the counter, listening.

"I didn't know where my next meal was coming from most of my life. Here, it's different. I wasn't trying to do anything today but pick up some of the hard fought pieces of my life. Those books were the only comfort I ever had. They were a world where I didn't have to make drugs, or fire guns, or posture myself just to keep people out of my space, or…" He drained the sink and leaned his hands against the lip.

In this filthy, writhing, cesspool of a city, Dredd had seen it all. He'd bore witness to the very worst humanity had to offer. In some way, he'd assumed Jim had been spared some of those realities but he knew now that that had been ridiculous fantasy. Dredd wore his scars on his skin; they were etched across his torso and back, creating dips and indentations in his muscle and chips in his bones. Jim's scar were less apparent but just as marring.

Having just bared his soul, Jim turned his head to look at Dredd. The man stood like a statue, his eyes shifted hard to the side, thinking. "I'm just trying to say thank you," Jim huffed, disappointed but not surprised.

It brought Joe's mind back to the present almost startlingly. His head was pounding; the headache behind his eyes felt like a hot lightbulb buzzing in his skull. He tipped the beer back and emptied it. "Bedtime," he said, walking to the bedroom and slapping the kitchen lights down on the way.

Jim stood in the middle of the darkened kitchen and hung his head. His hopes of reconciling with Joe drained with the LED lighting that ran the length of the ceiling. He went to go pull the couch bed out so he could attempt to sleep.

Joe puffed out a sigh when the bedroom door slid shut behind him. He sat on the side of the bed and ran calloused fingers into his temples and across his forehead, pressing deep and hard, enjoying the temporary relief the pressure provided. His life wasn't designed to be this complicated. He was supposed to get up and go to work every day, enforce the law, come home, sleep, and do it all over again. There wasn't room in his schedule to add a Jim Kirk.

And yet, as he fumbled at the buckle of his belt and shucked his pants to the floor, kicking them into the side wall and out of the way, Dredd felt different.

He brushed his teeth sluggishly, feeling less precise than usual, less rigorous. He laid in his bed and felt the ghost of Jim's presence from earlier in the day. He could smell him in his pillow and feel the slight sandiness of the sheets though he couldn't determine if these things were real or imagined.

As he closed his eyes to get some sleep, there was something preventing him from relaxing. It felt like a rock sitting on his chest and a pit in his stomach. He turned in the sheets, trying to shake the awful weight of his thoughts. Two tiny rooms away, Jim Kirk was sleeping on the couch bed. His scrawny hips sunk into the plastic mattress and his eyes undoubtedly spilling with tears.

Joe knew he hadn't given the kid the proper response. He understood that Jim was trying to connect with him and he had opted to ignore him. It wasn't fair to have kissed him today after punishing him without following through. He wished that the book of laws had advice to give him right now, a protocol he could follow and carry out that would resolve the situation with the least amount of mess. He grimaced and got to his feet, for once, he'd have to make a decision that wasn't pre-determined and dictated by hall of justice.

In the living room, Jim was indeed soaking his pillow with hot and stinging tears of frustration and exhaustion. Silently, of course, though he'd long abandoned catching them. He wasn't sure what was worse, being trapped in a place that offered warmth, protection, and food but without his books, or wandering the terrible streets, his belly aching for sustenance, but his mind comforted by the real and fictional worlds and characters he'd grown to love. On hot summer days, he used to lie on his stained, sheetless mattress and debate whether his most recent read was true or fictional. Here, in these sturdy walls that held no bullets or graffiti, he was subject to the will and the whim of Joseph Dredd with his silent treatment and heavy hand. For all the street smarts he'd been forced to acquire through circumstance, nothing had prepared him for this.

Curling in bed, he closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep when he felt a presence watching him. He looked up to see the unmistakable, chiseled outline of Joe Dredd in the darkened doorway. "Get up, kid," his voice sliced at the air.

Fear clenched in Jim's stomach. Dredd was going to throw him out in the middle of the night. It made sense, actually. There will be fewer judges in the corridor. Fewer witnesses.

The couch bed creaked a little as Jim stood in the dark, his hands squeezing and twisting at the front hem of his T-shirt.

"Come 'ere," Joe said, beckoning, stepping into the kitchen to clear the doorway.

Jim slung his shoulders down and walked toward the judge, stopping to stand directly in front of him. They stood in their sleep clothes, energy making the air between them thick and dangerous.

"You've had it rough, kid," Joe's voice was a whisper in the dark, the concession brought fresh tears to Jim's eyes, which already felt like bee stings from the past twelve hours.

Jim felt fingertips on his shoulder and seconds later he was yanked into a rough embrace. He felt the stubble on Joe's jaw against his cheek and the heat of the arms that pulled him tight, drawing their bodies together. Jim took the first safe breath he'd ever taken and laid his forehead on Joe's bulky shoulder, inhaling him deep into his memory banks.

They stood in the dark of the kitchen, bare feet on the cool linoleum floor, until Joe nodded into Jim's hair, running his hands down the kid's wiry frame and said, "Let's get some sleep."

Jim nodded, his chest immediately missing the warmth of Joe's body. He moved to return to his couch but Joe seized his wrist and led him into the bedroom. He didn't let go until Jim was sitting on the side of the bed and only when he was tucked in did Joe slide into the covers on the opposite side.

They laid in the bed a moment, Jim on his side looking at Dredd's eyes in the dark. Jim rolled over until his back was leaning into Dredd's shoulder. A smile forced its way onto his face as he felt the larger man curl into him, wrapping a bulky, warm arm around to rest a hand on Jim's belly and pull him closer.

"Night, Joe," Jim whispered into their shared pillow, his sore eyes closing gratefully as he nuzzled deeper back, the bottoms of his cold feet burrowing into Joe's warm legs.

"Night, pest," Joe murmured, his hot breath hitting the back of Jim's ear and making him shiver.


	7. Chapter 7

**Housepest: Chapter 7**

It wasn't the cooling pool of drool or the stinging in his eyes that woke Jim as he lie nestled in Joseph Dredd's bed. Instead, it was the steel rod jammed against the spot where his ass met his thigh that brought him from his slumber. He rubbed the sand from his eyes, observing the heavy arm draped over his side. Joe's fist was gripping at the front of Jim's borrowed t-shirt, twisted in the fabric possessively.

Jim smiled and traced the veins in Dredd's arm gently, the gruff man's skin warm and textured under the soft pads of his fingers. He felt the breath puffing gently out of Dredd's mouth against the back of his head, moving his blond hair rhythmically. Even when he slept, the judge managed to seem tough.

Jim bumped his ass back into Joe's dreaming erection. He heard the man grunt happily and toss slightly, tugging at Jim's shirt front involuntarily with this right hand. Jim peeled at the fingers holding onto his shirt until the hand let him go with a reluctant sigh from the sleeping man.

Feeling particularly plucky, Jim pushed the covers down past Dredd's waist, eliciting an annoyed moan and the flailing flop of an arm reaching out for the warmth that was once there. He looked down at the offending member that had been causing him a bit of discomfort. With gentle but bold fingers, Jim pulled at the waistband of Dredd's underwear to look at his stiff and impressive cock. Like the man, it was pervasive and stalwart, a lurking presence of robust power and potential destruction.

Jim leaned down and pressed a kiss to the taut tip. He let the very top catch on the end of his nose and breathed in the salted, chemically-clean scent. He saw Dredd's thighs jerk and looked up to see sleepy eyes looking at him, slightly stiff and cautious. Smiling, Jim put his mouth over the twitching cock and bobbed down gently, his lips pulled down to cover the thin edge of his perfect teeth.

"Jih-ehhhm," was all Dredd could manage in the wake of a ripple of pleasure that tore through him, in the middle of it all, lost somewhere between ecstasy and scolding.

Jim wrapped his arms under each of Dredd's knees and pulled him up by his legs, dragging him forcefully to the side so he was on his back, diagonal on the bed. Joe looked wide eyed in shock as the skinny kid moved him so seemingly effortlessly. With an arm coiled up under each of Joe's muscular thighs, Jim began to pull at the imposing pillar of nerves with his mouth. He pressed deeper on his own throat until his eyes watered and then licked and nipped at the sides. When his tongue teased at Joe's satin testicles, the Judge jerked in the sheets and gripped at the mattress in desperation.

No one had ever done this to Joseph Dredd.

As he regained his composure, Dredd shifted his hips, allowing Jim better access. When the kid drove his lips back over Joe's rigid cock, the dark-haired man captured a fistful of blond hair and ground up to meet the back of Jim's throat. The younger man mentally steeled himself against gagging and when Joe drew himself back a little, his body tensing, Jim knew he was going to release.

Swallowing at the surge that overfilled his mouth too quickly, Jim didn't withdraw his plush lips until Joe was fully spent. Only then did Jim sit up and smile in the dim morning, sunlight from the grey slant of a window spilling into his hair, which looked golden in the rare beams.

Jim slid up on his belly to press a kiss into Joe's mouth. The judge could taste himself on those quirking lips and it made his stomach yank from the inside. Jim settled himself down so his ear was pressed against Joe's chest and curled into the hard body of the other man.

Joe rolled so he was looking down at Jim, his austere face studying the younger man like he was particularly impossible math problem. He smudged his thumb over Jim's chin, pulling on his bottom lip, pulling his mouth open forcibly and dipped to kiss him, his tongue curling, when a beeping noise forced Joe's head to whip to the side. He rose off the bed and found his com quickly, "Dredd," he rasped.

Jim watched in disappointment from a half-sitting, half-flopping position on the bed. The voice through the com was a woman's and it was loud enough that Jim could hear it, "The chief judge wants to see you, sir."

"I'll be in," Joe promised, snapping the com off. he immediately set himself to getting dressed.

The annoyed noises Jim was making on the bed didn't seem to phase Joe at all and the younger man was beginning to wonder if the judge had turned his hearing off entirely. "Ah-hem!"Jim fake coughed loudly. Finally, Joe turned to look at him. "Where are you going?" Jim tried to sound angry but it came out as a whine.

"Hall of justice," Joe said, annoyed. He knew Jim had heard the dispatcher.

"Do you have to rush off?" Jim asked, his hand moving to the front of his pants.

Joe stood there for a second, as if waiting for his brain to warm up like the lights in the kitchen. He swayed gently on his feet then placed his helmet over his head. "Don't leave," he said, poking a gloved finger in Jim's direction.

Jim hung his mouth open and then stammered as if developing a protest. All that he managed to squeak out was "Jerk!" and by that time, Joe's boots were already on the kitchen floor. When he heard the heavy door slam shut, Jim flopped back on the bed in frustration, his hand reaching under the band of his pants to grip the base of his cock, rigid and raging in from the false hope of reciprocation.

…

Joe Dredd drove his bike into the parking bay in front of the Great Hall of Justice and dismounted. He'd been expecting this. With two signals in the field yesterday, it was only a matter of time before he was asked to come in for questioning. The large hall loomed in the smoggy morning light, the golden eagle on the front spanning most of the building.

Dredd entered purposefully, making his way to the main hall. He approached the chambers of the chief judge and stood in front of the uniformed desk-workers that monitored the area.

"Judge Dredd," she said. Her hair was short and impeccably groomed, close to her head and heavily restricted with product. "Have a seat."

Dredd stood to the side waiting, preferring not to drop into one of the small chairs provided.

Minutes later the desk phone beeped and the woman told Dredd he could proceed into the chamber. Joe had been to see the chief judge many times but this was the first time he felt nervous. This was the first time he had something to lose.

The chief judge sat at her desk and looked up when Joe entered. "Judge Dredd," she said, her face betrayed nothing as did his. "Thank you for coming in despite your day off."

She knew not to expect a response from the man. He was their best judge by far, but struggled with basic reporting. It took a long time to convince him, even in written reports, to elaborate. However, what he lacked in communication, he made up for copiously in the effective and efficient disbursement of justice that never strayed from the Lawgiver.

According to rumor mill, he had acquired a lover in recent days and it was all anyone was talking about around the halls. While relationships were certainly frowned upon for judges who needed, for the most part, to focus on their work, measures to prevent and punish such instances had been long ago abandoned when the head council decided that they lost far too many judges to human nature.

Then again, at times, it was difficult to remember that Joseph Dredd was human.

"Congrats on your new relationship," the chief said, testing the waters.

Joe opened his mouth a moment in what could be considered shock, then ground his teeth back together forcefully. The chief couldn't help but notice that he didn't deny it.

"That's not why I called you in," she said, pulling up a file on her screen, "Yesterday you had two signals in the field. Care to explain?"

While he was an emotionless, steel statue on the outside, Dredd's mind careened recklessly. Finally, he made a decision to lie, for Jim's sake. He'd never lied to the chief or the council before, hell, he'd never lied. "I investigated the second signal myself," he said, truthfully, "When I arrived on the scene, I found nothing of note. A few minutes later, the signal disappeared." He was glad he thought to turn off the transmitter on Jim's helmet before dragging him home.

"What does it mean? Where was the signal coming from?" The chief asked, her face more concerned than anything else.

Joe shrugged his shoulders up. "I just wear the tech, I don't program it."

The chief nodded in understanding. "Well, let's monitor it. If it happens again, we'll look into updating your signal."

Dredd nodded once. The chief dismissed him and he pivoted, heading for the door. She stopped him though, calling out, "Joe!"

He turned to regard her through his tinted visor.

"I hope your new relationship makes you happy," she said, "I really do."

"It will not interfere with my performance," Dredd rasped, then vanished.

As he walked to the Lawmaster, Dredd felt dizzy. The pit of his stomach ached. He had lied to protect Jim.

_Jim. _

His first instinctive reaction to everyone knowing that he had acquired...what they were interpreting as a relationship, was fury. However, as he got back on his bike and took off toward home, he realized that if everyone knew, or at least thought they knew, it could make things much easier. He wouldn't have to keep Jim hidden in the halls.

Dredd parked his bike and walked into his building using his security pass. The gated blocks were much nicer and all judges were housed in them. He looked at the shops lining the first level of the block and saw a man selling shoes on a kiosk. He looked up through the massive core of the tower, thinking of Jim up in his apartment.

He approached the booth, looking over the shoes skeptically. None of them would really do. He wanted a nice sturdy set of shoes for Jim. However, he needed something to wear _now_, and so Dredd snapped a pair of flip flops off the rack and looked at them, trying to think how big Jim's feet were. With a rare blush, he remembered how the cold bottoms of Jim's feel felt on his warm legs last night. He put the ones in his hand back and grabbed one size smaller and handed them over to the cashier who stared open-mouthed in shock. Dredd, _the Judge Dredd, _ was buying sandals at his booth in his uniform.

Dredd handed over the credits and snapped up his purchase and booked it for the elevator.

In the lift, Dredd leaned his back into the wall as the metal box rose, making several stops along the way. He allowed himself, for the first time since waking with Jim's lips wrapped around him, to think about the situation he had created for himself. He realized as the elevator doors slid shut again, effectively making him miss his own floor, that he was nervous to return to Jim.

Dredd rode the elevator to the observation deck and walked onto the platform, the whistling wind smoothed around his helmet. He leaned on the top of the massive structure walls and looked out over Mega-City One. The city, teeming with people at odds with life and death sent a wave of revulsion through him. Where once he saw his work and his pride, now he looked out at a hopeless ruin, a viper pit keen on swallowing the best of each person and draining them.

He looked at the flimsy flip-flops in his hand. They were glorified shower shoes. Looking around, Joe leaned his elbows on the railing and let his troubled mind rove over his current situation. Jim Kirk ought to be serving a good deal of time in the cubes. Instead, he was probably still lounging in Joe's bed, jerking off into his clean sheets.

Something about that image made Joe's stomach hurt.

He turned his back on the city and leaned his shoulders into the tall concrete and metal walls of his home block. He was harboring a criminal; a criminal with art glass eyes and a velvet mouth. He was a criminal too, now. He had stood in the Great Halls and lied to the chief judge. If that was result of him being in a relationship, as the chief had put it, then he could understand why such things have been forbidden in the past.

Dredd looked at the flip-flops in his hand. He gave a shameful glance down his torso, condemning his semi-erect penis for misleading him. With a determination of steel, Dredd clenches his hand on the cheap shoes and headed for the elevator.

Having developed a compromise to his current predicament, Joe's plan was to march downstairs, hand the kid the flip flops and enough money to establish himself in a new place, and then go on with his life as it once was, before Jim tripped into his system and complicated everything.

Joe punched the numbers on the elevator, going over what he might say to the little, blond creep. So far, his plan was to say, "Pack up, Get out."

Standing in front of his apartment door, Joe felt more determined than ever to oust the nuisance on the other side of the door. He knew there would probably be shouting, maybe tears, he wasn't going to be swayed by any of it.

With a huge weight lifted from his shoulders at the conclusion he had reached. In an hour, he'd be back to his old self and he could forget about the man-child taking up real estate in his bed.

He pressed his keycard into the door and entered his apartment.

The kitchen was a gruddamned mess. Boxes filled the floor in every direction. There was barely enough room for Joe to step inside and close the door behind him. The countertops were covered in books and loose stacks of pages, and in the middle of the chaos was Jim Kirk, the top half of his malnourished body inside of a large box.

Jim snapped upright when he hear the door clank shut. "Joe!" he said, in happy surprise. His face was wet with tears and his eyes and the top of his nose were ruddy from crying. Joe didn't understand, he thought Jim would be happy to have his books back. That is why he called and had the ridiculous things delivered.

Dredd stared, unsure of what to say. He didn't have time to think though. Jim picked up the empty box he was digging in and tossed it to the side and ran toward the larger man. He stepped on boxes like a nimble mountain goat and leapt at the terrified, confused Judge.

Jim clamped onto Joe's hips with his thighs, his feet locking behind Joe's ass. His arms curled around Joe's neck, trying to kiss him.

The drokking helmet was in the way, so Jim pushed at the heavy armor covering Joe's face until the monstrosity bounced across the floor behind Joe. While clinging to the stunned lawman, Jim Kirk pressed his mouth against Joe's, fresh tears springing from his bedroom eyes, wetting both their cheeks.

"Thank you, thank you!" Jim cried as he disconnected his lips and peppered Joe's face with smooches while the gruff man blinked rapidly. "How did you get them?"

"I-" Dredd started to say. He didn't need to tell the kid how he knew to go to his crummy apartment and that he paid a hefty price to get these books packed and delivered by a moving company. Instead of explaining himself, Joe let the flip-flops fall to the floor so he could put his hands on Jim's behind and help support him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Housepest: Chapter 8**

Joseph Dredd held onto Jim as the young man writhed against him. He staggered back, nearly tripping over his helmet while Jim's hands threaded through his hair and his tongue rotated in his mouth. When he finally managed to peel the overzealous blond off of him and hold him at an arm's length, the lawman's heart was rocking in his chest.

"Jim," Dredd said, stupidly. All his thoughts of giving Jim his marching orders were abandoned as the taste and feel of the young man's mouth lingered on his lips.

"Thank you, Joe!" Jim said, his eyes sparkling as he surveyed the room. The books were everywhere, filling Dredd's apartment with their old smells. They were stacked and stored on every surface in every room as Jim had begun the sorting process.

Joe picked up his helmet and stepped over the boxes, moving awkwardly through his cluttered kitchen. He bumped into the bedroom and blinked at the stacks of books that lined his dresser. He wondered if there was any surface left untouched. He turned around and there was Jim, still close to him, a hand resting on the flak jacket against Joe's ribs. Dredd backed up again, knocking over a towering stack of tomes that created a small, dusty cloud as they slumped to the floor.

"Sorry," Joe muttered awkwardly as Jim dipped to rebuild the column.

Seeking a place to sit down, Dredd contemplated the bed but his loins stirred at the memory of the morning. Instead he made his way back into the kitchen and pulled a chair out at the table, sliding a box along the floor with his boot and settling into the chair. He let his helmet bump down on the table on top of a small pile of loose pages. He looked at the boxes and scratched at the stubble under his chin; he didn't remember there being quite this many books in Jim's tiny apartment.

And then there was Jim. On his knees in front of another box, pulling out mildewed books, peeking and the titles, his lips trembling into small smiles with each item.

"Shoes," Dredd finally said. Jim lifted his head and looked at the judge. "Gonna get you some shoes."

That caught Jim's attention. His hands paused over the box, "Should I...should I not be unpacking these?" His voice was hesitant and his hands hovered over the half-empty box, holding stone still.

"We'll need bookshelves, too," Dredd puffed out begrudgingly, looking at the mess all around them. "A lot of them."

Jim's shoulders relaxed in relief. He looked at the man who intimidated the whole of Mega City One, famous for his brutal, unyielding nature. Jim didn't see a stone-hearted killer when he looked at Joseph Dredd, he saw a fiercely-protective man locked inside of an impenetrable fortress. Well, impenetrable for most; Jim Kirk didn't believe in no-win scenarios.

Stalking across the kitchen once again and snatching the flimsy flip flops off the floor, Dredd held them out to Jim. He was a little embarrassed by how awful and cheap they were, but he only needed them so Jim had something to put on his feet today until they got some proper shoes.

The blond man rose to his feet slowly and poked a finger in the middle of his chest. "For me?" he asked, looking somewhat overwhelmed.

Dredd gave the shoes a shake, waiting for Jim to take them. "Get dressed, kid." he said.

Jim looked down at his torn up jeans and his borrowed T-shirt. This was as dressed as he could possibly get. He took the shoes and held them to his chest a moment then inspected them. "These are brand new!" he exclaimed. His fingers ran over the rubbery foam soles with reverence.

Joe's scowl faltered. "Put 'em on," he said, softening the command slightly.

Jim smiled happily and reached down, putting the ugly shoes on his feet. When he stood up, he turned his shoulders to the side and smeared a hand across his face, under his eye.

"C'mon," Joe said, pretending he didn't see the kid crying over a drokking pair of flip flops. He picked up his helmet and placed it over his head and headed for the door. Jim followed, the flip flops slapping at his naked feet as he walked out behind Dredd, into the hallway.

Jim walked through the halls by Joe's elbow, feeling small next to the Judge who took long strides to the elevator. When they got in, Jim looked up at him, hating the helmet he wore. He liked to see Joe's eyes which, in comparison to his scowling mouth, were expressive and telling and often full of caring that even the surly man couldn't suppress. However, when Jim looked into the tinted visor of the judge helmet, the only thing he saw was his own reflection. "Uhg! Hold still," Jim said, as the elevator traveled down the 44 floors to the ground level, fixing his hair in the visor like it was a mirror.

Joe stared, unsure what to think, as Jim primped into his face. When the elevator doors opened again, Joe took off through them and Jim tagged along, still mussing with his nest of golden hair.

Joe got to his bike and mounted it, looking at JIm who stood there in his ridiculous excuse for shoes and his inadequate t-shirt. Dredd opened a compartment on the side of the Lawmaster and produced a helmet for Jim. He handed it to the kid who looked at it in dismay and said, "But I just fixed my hair."

Dredd really didn't want to have to get off his bike to deal with this so he just stared at Jim and waited. Jim stared back, looking from Dredd to the helmet to the bike. Finally he huffed out a deep breath and said fine, gingerly setting the helmet on his head.

When he moved to get on, Dredd stopped him, pulling him in front of him and pushing the helmet down properly. He lifted Jim's chin and hooked the strap underneath then motioned with his head over his shoulder for Jim to climb aboard.

"So damn pushy," Jim muttered, tossing one lean leg over the side and sliding himself into the seat behind Dredd, his pelvis pushed hard against the Judge's backside. He wrapped his arms around Joe's waist and squeezed tight as they took off.

Jim loved the wind in his face, even though the city was smoggy and hot and smelled like exhaust and hot pavement. As they traveled through the streets, Jim noticed they were leaving sector 13. He could count the number of times he'd left his home sector on one hand.

They drove for a while before they reached their destination. Wherever they were, it was cleaner than any place Jim had ever been and there were fewer people around. Jim assessed that it must be one of the fancier sectors. Dredd parked his bike. Outside of Sector 13 he would be less well-known and this shopping complex had everything they needed. In Sector 13, the shopping inside the blocks was basic and often lacking. The building they entered was all shopping on every level and it was actually clean on the inside. Jim looked around with wide eyes as he followed Dredd through the complex.

Jim fingers twisted aimlessly at his sides as he scurried to keep up with the judge who walked with purpose, like he was late for a meeting. When they stopped in front of a brightly lit shoe store, Jim stared in awe, his throat dry.

He fumbled to catch onto Joe's elbow with numb hands but the judge walked out of his grip and into the store. Jim stood in the hall looking lost, feeling inadequate in his tatty clothes and his helmet crushed hair. He desperately ran his fingers through the matted mess atop his head and looked around, chewing his lip.

Joe was looking at the tennis shoes when he turned to ask Jim a question and couldn't find the kid. Spying him in the hall still, the judge motioned for Jim to join him. The blond man shook his head, spun on his heels and sped down the hall. Joe watched, his scowl deepening. He stalked from the store and caught up with Jim, grabbing his elbow and spinning him around.

"I don't have money," Jim said, "and this place is so clean. I can't-" He stopped his rant and turned around again, hiding his face.

Dredd reached around and took his wrist leading him back to the store. "I'm buying," he said in a tone that left no room for argument. Jim was tugged into the store, his eyes like saucers.

He'd never seen so many pairs of shoes. He stood like a statue in the middle and a salesman stood nearby, his nervous eyes shifting between the judge and the streetpunk, unsure of what was happening. It wasn't normal to have either of these characters shopping in his shoe store.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" the salesman asked, his hand clasped in front of him eagerly but nervously.

"He needs tennis shoes and boots," Dredd said, gesturing to Jim. "Anything else he wants."

Jim looked at Joe with his mouth open. With the flip flops, that was four new pairs of shoes in one day.

"Just point to the shoes you'd like to try on," the salesman said, before swallowing and begrudgingly adding, "sir."

Catching his plush bottom lip in his teeth, Jim surveyed the wall of tennis shoes. He found the cheapest pair, and all white set, and pointed to it.

Dredd sighed and said, "He needs something that will last. With support."

The clerk nodded. "What size shoe, sir?"

Jim looked down at his foot. He slipped it out of the flip flop and held it up, gesturing to his own foot. "This big," he laughed nervously. He didn't have a clue. Soon he was sitting down, with his foot in a metal tray.

Instructed to stay seated, Jim waited while the man brought out a stack of boxes. He needed a pair of socks and Joe pulled one off a nearby rack and handed it to the clerk.

He nodded and opened the package, sliding the socks on Jim's feet before lacing him into the first pair of tennis shoes. Jim fought tears as he looked at the bright colors on the shoes on his feet. The whites were so white, the laces were clean and they matched. Best of all, he didn't steal the shoes off a body waiting for recyc.

Over the next hour, Jim picked out a pair of sneakers, a pair of boots, and a pair of topsiders at Joe's insistence. Wearing the sneakers and the new pair of socks, Jim nearly passed out at the final price while standing at the register. Joe tapped his credits without batting an eyelash and took the bag.

"Uhm, judge," the clerk said, holding up the flip flops in thumb and forefinger, as if they were diseased. "Don't forget your, uhm, sandals."

"Toss 'em," Dredd recommended.

Jim leapt to grab the flimsy shoes, holding them close. "No, I want them," he begged, "I love them."

Sighing, Joe opened the shopping bag and held it out indignantly so Jim could add the terrible shoes. "Thanks," Jim said, a blush on his neck and cheeks.

Next, much to Jim's amazement, he was shuffled along to purchase clothing. He needed everything and Joe was adamant about what he ought to buy. Sent into the dressing room to try on jeans, Jim found himself overwhelmed by all this attention. He pulled on the first pair of pants and buttoned them, looking at himself in the mirror. He shifted his eyes down carefully, quickly, turning into the wall and leaning on the cool surface. He didn't deserve any of this.

A rap on the door brought him back to his senses. He opened it and Joe looked at him. "Too big," he said, observing the baggy jeans hanging off of Jim's hips. When his eyes wandered up and he saw the tears on Jim's cheeks, his shoulders fell.

He stepped inside and closed the dressing room door behind him, then he removed his helmet and set it on the chair. His eyes searched Jim for reasons.

"I've never had new clothes, either," Jim said, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt the ears of the sales clerks who were bug-eyed at the judge shopping in their store with a punk.

"So?" Joe asked.

Jim leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, fresh tears wetting his face. "I don't deserve them," he said in a hitched voice.

Joe looked around the small dressing room, wishing there was an escape from this cramped space without making Jim feel even worse. "No you don't, pest," Joe finally, gruffly agreed, pulling Jim away from the wall and into his arms, holding him tight. "But tough. Sick of you wearing my clothes."

It wasn't true. Seeing Jim tied into his too-big sweatpants and swimming in his shirts made Joe feel good inside. His heart fluttered at the thought.

"I'll pay you back," Jim said. He liked being hugged by Joe but he the uniform was clunky and pointy, hard and sharp. He missed the softness of the lawman's body.

"Sure, kid," Dredd said, his scowl nearly changing direction at the thought.

Jim smiled at last and wiped his wrist across his eyes, then he grabbed the chain that connected Joe's badge to his collar and yanked the big man down and forward for a kiss. Dredd didn't like people touching his chain but he had to make an exception as Jim bumped against him, the loose jeans slipping off his hips and puckering on the floor around his ankles.

When Joe broke away he put a hand on Jim's chest and pushed the lusty kid back into the flimsy barrier of the dressing room. "Don't touch my chain," he grumped. He picked up his helmet and placed it back on his head. "Stay here," he muttered. After all the time spent in Joe's apartment, the blond man was starting to think that the command was Joe's catch phrase.

Still, he sat in his underwear on the bench in the room and waited while Joe picked out clothing for him. They figured out his sized through trial and error and soon had an armload of clothing to purchase. On top of that, Joe grabbed several pairs of underwear and a few bags of socks.

Again the staggering bill left Jim feeling speechless and unworthy. He stared at the judge with as much curiosity as the salesclerks. He still wasn't sure what was going on and why the judge was treating him to this day out. All he knew was, his feet were snug and comfortable in his new shoes.

"One more stop," Joe said as they left the store. The judge was carrying the shopping bags, causing onlookers to stop and stare in confusion. He regretted not changing out of his uniform before heading out for this trip. As a result, he adopted an even faster clip than usual and Jim had to practically jog to keep up with him.

When he finally stopped on the escalator, Jim was grateful for a moment to catch his breath. He put his hand on Joe's arm and said, "Please, walk slower. You're killing me."

The helmet tilted down to look at him and the unnerving scowl ticked gently. When they stepped off the moving stairs, he walked slower and Jim fell into step beside him. "Dredd," he said, being careful not to use his first name while he was in uniform, " before we go buy anything else, can you please tell me why you are doing this for me."

They walked in silence until they were almost to the entrance of the furniture store, a bright blue nightmare of extraordinary size, when Joe turned to Jim and stopped walking. "Because I want to," he barked gruffly, sucking air into his chest and letting it out again. Then he performed a right face and headed into the store to find bookshelves.

The furniture store turned Jim into a hummingbird. He wanted to look at everything and Joe had to wrangle him at every turn of the labyrinth. By the time they made it to the bookshelves, buried deep within the bowels of the shopping center, they were both exhausted. Joe was tired of carrying the heavy bags and Jim was in sensory overload.

They found the bookshelves they wanted and Joe nearly started passing out stints in the cubes when a sales associate told him he had to pick up the boxes himself in a separate area.

Bound and determined to get everything they needed, Joe marched them onward, resisting the urge to shoulder-carry Jim the rest of the way. When they were finally finished, Jim was near tears from being bossed to death by the furious man and Joe was certain the blood vessels in his eyes had burst and were dumping blood into his vision.

They paid and pushed the overloaded cart of bookshelves toward the exit.

"Joe?" Jim finally said after a rather long stretch of pouty silence.

The judge turned on him his teeth showing as his scowl had pulled itself slowly into a sneer in the last store.

"How're we gonna get all this stuff home?" he asked, blushing at the word home. _Home. _

Dredd looked at the flatbed of boxes and the overstuffed bags. He was silent a moment then nodded, headed toward the exit once again. Jim followed, never sure of what was going to happen next when it came to his….his….

He had no idea what Joe was. Boyfriend? Jailer? Keeper? Sugar Daddy?

Regardless, he followed Joe, admiring the man's pert ass, hugged by the leather pants perfectly.

From the parking area, Dredd hailed a cab. He helped load it full of their purchases and shoved Jim into the back seat. After rasping the address to the cabbie and looking at his credentials, Joe smacked the top of the cab and climbed on Lawmaster, escorting the vehicle back to their home sector and their home block.

When Joe and Jim finally got all of their purchases up to their floor, they both look looked exhausted. Joe kicked a box of books over to get to the fridge and grab a beer while Jim fussed over the spilled books. "Sorry," Joe said again, popping the top off his beer and sucking at the bottle.

He wanted out of his uniform though, so he set the bottle down and peeled off his suit. Jim watched from the doorway, toeing out of his perfect new shoes. He shrugged out this new jacket and set it on the dresser.

"We'll order out," Dredd said, shoving his pants past his legs and off the end of his feet. Jim shimmied his jeans off too, eyeballing the generous man like a hungry carnivore.

Dredd stretched in his underpants, ready to hit the showers. When he looked over at Jim, the blond, fair-skinned kid was naked and clearly aroused. Joe wasn't sure what to do, he looked away quickly, catching his breath.

Jim came and stood in front of the muscled man, the tip of one finger catching on the elastic waistband of his underwear and pulling at it to peek inside.

Seizing the blond man's hand in his large fist and holding onto it, Dredd shook his head at Jim. It was impossible to hide his erection, nothing but a soft cotton barrier between his swollen cock and Jim's naked belly.

Refusing to glance into the wet blue eyes that scanned him, Dredd dropped Jim's hand and turned, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

Jim gaped, opened-mouthed and wide-eyed like a hooked fish. When he heard the shower water squeak to life, he stormed to the bathroom door and tested the handle. Locked. He allowed himself a mini tantrum before heading to the kitchen and grabbing his bags of clothes. Setting them on the bed, he dug through and found a pair of underwear and yanked the tag off, sliding them up over his backside and over the top of his showing hardon, willing the imposing flesh to calm.

He grabbed a pair of soft pants and slid those on too, peeling off the stickers and finally a t-shirt. His annoyance subsided along with his erection. He hugged himself and flopped on the bed. He had brand new clothes for the first time in his life. The smell of the new items was intoxicating. He pulled the shirt front up over his nose and inhaled deeply the smell of the store.

On top of all of that, he had his books. Jim couldn't wrap his mind around how drastically his life had changed after his encounter with Sector 13's most fearsome judge. He got up grabbed Joe's half-empty beer and took a swig, heading out into the kitchen and draining it. He grabbed one of the boxes of bookshelves and hauled the heavy, awkward flat-pack into the living room, maneuvering over the boxes of books miraculously without stumbling. The den had the most open space. Jim sat on the floor and ripped at the box to reveal stacked boards, bag of hardware, and a set of instructions.

He say back on his ankles and chewed at his lips while looking at the pages of the instructions. He heard Dredd moving around in the bedroom and sighed. He felt bad for being too forward. Jim wasn't used to people doing favors for him unless they expected something in return. Most often, that something involved Jim on his knees in one way or another.

The fact that Joe didn't expect that of him left Jim at a loss. He wasn't sure what he ought to do.

When Joe's freshly showered form came into the doorway, Jim looked up at the man who was dressed in black sleep pants and a blank tank. This seemed to be his home uniform, but Jim wasn't complaining, admiring the strong shoulders and arms on display.

Jim got up off the floor and stood in front of Joe, watching the man sway in place like a wary horse. "Nobody's ever-" Jim started then stopped and took a big breath, "Thank you, Joe." He rose up on his toes and planted a quick kiss on the lawman's freshly shaved cheek. He observed him a moment with sparkling eyes, hung with dew, and ducked past the judge and into the kitchen to look for a screwdriver.

Joe stood there a moment, looking into the empty room, pressing his fingers into his cheek where the ghost of the kiss lingered. His chest swelled and fell, content.

After placing an order for take-out Chinese, Joe grabbed another bookshelf and set it down on the floor by Jim's. He set his tool chest between them and said, "Ready to build?" His own voice felt awkward coming out of him but the smile it put on Jim's face was worth the discomfort.

Of course, that opened the floodgates. Jim the chatterbox was back in full force, going on and on about the day's events, the mall in the nicer district, the clothing on his back. They worked on their shelves while Jim prattled on.

Joe interrupted him at last, curiosity getting the best of him. "Where did you get clothes if you didn't buy them?"

Jim looked at him with a lopsided smile. "You know you get blood stains out of a shirt with enough scrubbing, but bullet holes need to be sewn up or they just fray and get larger and larger."

"From the dead?" Dredd asked in shock.

"Just follow the meatwagon," Jim sighed. "Also, if you are quick enough and okay with a little bit of a scrap, you can raid the apartment of someone who got arrested. But honestly, that can get rough depending on who gets there first."

The thought was so upsetting to the judge he sat back on his heels and stared off a moment. It upset him every time he unveiled more about Jim's life. He wasn't sure how the kid managed to be so damn happy all the time.

The doorbell rang and ten minutes later they were sitting on the couch eating from white takeout containers and watching television. Dredd watched as Jim let his finger crush past the hem of his shirt again and again. He finally caught the nervous fingers and held onto them. He wanted to say something but he settled for brushing a big thumb across the top of Jim's hand.

Jim sighed and snuggled close into him, resting his head on Dredd's chest. The stringent man put his hand in Jim's hair and stroked the soft dome for several minutes before declaring that it was time to work on the shelves again.

Jim built three bookcases while Joe struggled with his first. The burly man glared at the pictures on his crumpled instruction sheet and scratched at the back of his neck. Jim needed no instructions after his first read-through. He absorbed information like a sponge and he enjoyed building and creating with his hands.

Soon he was on the very last bookshelf and Joe was on his very last nerve. As Jim clapped his hands and said, "Done!" gesturing to his finished case, Joe's lip curled into a sneer.

He stared again at the now torn booklet of instructions and then slammed it into the ground. He was ready to toss this drokking pile of pressboard off the balcony.

"Can I help?" Jim asked, watching Joe's neck and shoulders twitch in frustration.

"No!" Dredd snapped.

Jim sighed and lifted his completed bookshelf up and walked it into place along the wall with the others. He couldn't wait to line his books up on the he turned, he found Joe trying to crack a board across his knee.

"Stop!" Jim begged, running over and wrenching on the board with all his might. He twisted it, finally getting it out of Joe's grip and sending himself backward in a heap on the floor, the board making sharp contact with his face.

Jim sat up, holding his face. The board had smacked the plump skin of his bottom lip into the sharp edge of his upper teeth and a bloody wound appeared on Jim's soft features.

Joe felt terrible and abandoned his rage. He rushed to Jim's side, dabbing at the lip gently with cautious fingers. "You okay, kid?" He asked, his voice graveled and soft.

Nodding, Jim probed the cut with his tongue and winced. "I'm fine, I didn't want you to break it," he explained.

"I'm no good at-" Joe began, then closed his mouth. When he spoke again, he said, "You finish it, pest."

Jim moved to the parts and pieces scattered all over the floor while Dredd grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and brought it to his little builder. "Take a break, put this on your cut," he ordered.

"M'fine," Jim said, waving at the cold compress with a disinterested hand.

He felt a thick arm snake around him and Dredd lifted him off the floor and bounced him down onto the couch like a sack of potatoes. Then the judge sat down too, pulling Jim to him, his legs draped on Joe's lap and his head and shoulders propped on a couch pillow.

"Put it on there," Joe said again, concern in his eyes mixed with authority. He didn't want to be argued with.

Jim took it obediently and pressed the cool back into his lip, which throbbed steadily to the beat of his heart.

Joe brushed his hand across Jim's belly and his arm ran into the stiff protrusion in the front of Jim's pants. Joe ran a tongue over his lips. He faced death and danger every day, why was it so hard to get intimate with the pale punk that had captured his attention?

He tugged at Jim's pants, forcing the kid to adopt a shocked look and drop his hands away from his face.

"Keep that ice on there!" Joe commanded. Pausing and waiting for Jim to comply. When he did, he freed the swollen, pink cock from its soft cotton trappings. Smaller than his own, Joe observed the dick lovingly and pumped a few squirts of lotion into his palm from the bottle on the nearby side-table.

Jim sucked air in sharply as Joe's warm, slick hand enveloped his over-hard member. He moaned at the expert way Joe pressed his thumb into the base and he nearly let the cold-pack falter again when Joe shifted so he could put both hands to work, his fingers cupping and squeezing at Jim's soft testicles.

Jim squirmed in ecstasy at the touches and when he was getting close, the wicked man puppeting his pleasure drew back all his attentions and pulled Jim nearer, propping his lower back up on one meaty thigh.

Joe grabbed another pump of lotion and, much to Jim's surprise, wiggled a finger into his tight opening. Jim gasped at the welcome invasion, his cock urgent with need.

Joe added another finger, then began to vigorously move his digits in and out of Jim's incredibly tight muscle. The noisy, fevered finger penetration set Jim into a moaning frenzy. He abandoned the icepack and grabbed for his own cock.

"Stop!" Dredd said, his fingers halting, "put it back on, pest and keep your hands down."

Jim's face was flushed with color and his mouth hung open in desperation. Somehow he shakily managed to put the ice pack back on his sore lip. The heartbeat was gone from his wound, the blood in his body having found a new place to congregate.

Joe nodded and went back to finger-fucking Jim. When he finally added the rough but perfect tugging on the young man's penis, Jim erupted with a shout, splashing hot come onto his belly and his new shirt while his body spasmed, the muscle of his ass clamped down on Joe's hand.

"Good boy," Dredd said, grabbing a tissue from the box and wiping up Jim's slick release from his hot and heaving belly. "How's the lip, pest?"

Jim threw the cold pack to the floor and got up on his knees, straddling the judge and pressing his sore lips into Dredd's with all his might. The big man could taste the metal tang of blood mixed with Jim's sweet flavor. He was ready to let Joe push his massive cock past the barrier of his well-slickened ass as he hungrily fumbled at Joe's pants, blinded by the forceful kissing.

Joe stopped him though, warding off his hasty hands. "You got a bookshelf to build," he said as he turned his head away from Jim's affectionate, lusty lips.

Jim collapsed against his chest in exhaustion. No one had ever gotten Jim off like that before. Certainly not without expecting a lot more in return.

Working the kids pants back up over his hips and giving his behind a smack, Joe urged Jim up and sighed. "Ice pack," he insisted. He got up and walked out of the room.

Jim watched him go, picking the ice back back up and setting it on his lip. He was dead tired suddenly.

When Joe came back, Jim was sound asleep on the couch, the ice pack lost somewhere in the cushions. The bookshelf still lay in pieces and parts across the floor. The older man slid his arms up under Jim's slumbering form and lifted him effortlessly into his arms.

Jim stirred awake and blinked at the big man with a sleepy smile. "Love you, Joe," Jim yawned.

A curt nod was all Joe could manage, sitting the kid on the bed and moving the shopping bags to the floor. He climbed into bed too, sighing deep before turning off the light. There were screws and boards all over the living room, boxes and books on every surface of the kitchen, books and bags all over the bedroom.

Joe's apartment had never been such a drokking mess.

Jim rolled into Dredd and wrapped himself around the big man like he was a giant teddy bear. Joe kissed Jim's head, smelling his hair.

His apartment had never been such a mess. His apartment had never felt so much like a home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Housepest: Chapter 9**

Jim jerked in the sheets, his heel slamming into Joe's shin, waking the snoring judge. Joe sat up on his elbows and waited for his eyes to adjust in the darkness. He observed Jim who radiated heat in the bed, his skin wet with perspiration and his face a corrugated mask of tension and fear. His teeth were gritted together his lips curled. His breath sawed out of him too fast and too hard as he slept.

Joe wondered what was happening and then a low, desperate groan erupted from Jim and he flailed his arms, clawing at the blankets. "No no no!" Jim's sleep-addled mouth slurred out the words frenzied and unnatural, "Stop, doaannnt."

Watching Jim soak the mattress with sweat, Joe realized the kid was having a nightmare. He placed a hand on Jim's chest and rubbed vigorously, "Wake up, pest!"

Jim woke with a sharp intake of air and laid a fist across Joe's jaw before flipping over and shoving his hands under his pillow in a berserk motion before he woke up enough to realize he was safe and sound and in bed with Joe. At that moment, he melted into the mattress, tension leaving his wracked frame.

He felt a soothing hand on his back, running up and down over his shirt.

Jim was panting slightly and he turned to face Joe who removed the warm hand from the kid's back, retracting to his side of the bed. Rubbing his knuckles ruefully, Jim said, "I hit you. Are you okay, did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine," the judge responded, rotating his jaw slightly. He really was fine, he faced much harder criminals than his Jim in the field every day.

Jim made a relieved noise and flopped onto his back, his arms coming up to hug himself. Feeling a little freer in the dark, chilly bedroom, Joe laid back down and reached his arms out, pulling Jim into his chest and holding him tight.

Jim relaxed against the warmth of the judge. He felt out of sorts and only barely remembered being carried to the bed earlier in the night. He trembled slightly, still catching at his breath.

"Talk about it," Dredd suggested, though it sounded much more like a command.

Jim sighed deep into the fabric of Joe's shirt. "It's okay, I'm okay," he said reassuringly to his muscled companion, his blue eyes looked dark in the dimly lit bedroom. Jim shrugged in Joe's arms.

The judge waited in silence for his chatterbox to change his mind. It took a few intense minutes before the shaky voice whispered, "I was back in my old apartment."

The large hand on his arm tightened, urging him on.

"That was just a different world than this," Jim sighed, still talking into the middle of Joe's chest.

The stiffening of Joe's shoulders told Jim that the judge already had an inkling of how different his life had been before he was dragged away from his crooked block in cuffs.

After another stretching pause, Jim turned slightly in his bed and said, "I dreamt I was back and there and they were messing with my books. They'd always do that when they came around. Leaf through them, knock the stacks over, put their feet on them. It used to drive me mad."

"Who, pest?" Joe sounded tired.

"Roach and his fucking cronies," Jim huffed, taking in a deep breath and puffing it back out slowly.

Dredd's brow furrowed in confusion, "Who?" He was perking up a bit. He reached out and turned on the light on the bedside table, making Jim shield his eyes from the unexpected assault of brightness.

"Roach," Jim said again, half-heartedly. He didn't want to talk about this too much. "He was the, uh, he runs that block."

"Your old block is under the jurisdiction of the law," Dredd stated firmly.

Jim gave him an almost amused but hopeless look. "Sure, Joe, but you know there are more criminals than judges and you were the first judge I'd seen for weeks. You have to know the bad blocks, like that one, are run by the gangs."

No concession crossed Joe's unfaltering face. "Tell me more about this Roach and his activities."

"I thought we were talking about my bad dream?" Jim said argumentatively, pulling back slightly.

"What did this guy make you do?" Joe asked, no longer concerned with nightmares.

Jim tried to scootch back to his own side of the bed but Dredd caught his arm and held him in place. After a moment, Jim said, "You will throw me in the cubes if I tell you all that stuff."

Dredd raised an eyebrow. "If that were the case, you'd be crying in a cube now."

There was no arguing with that. Jim had earned himself over forty years in the cubes in the past two weeks alone and Dredd had yet to turn him in. In fact, he had lied to the head judge to save Jim's skin.

"Roach runs everything from the top down in the block," Jim admitted. "Big drug productions, big on prostitution."

Joe went cold. "Which of those things did he have you do?"

"Both," Jim said, matter-of-factly, his eyes carefully focused on his hands, on the bedspread, anywhere but the muddy-green eyes that roved him.

He felt the bed dip and looked up as Joe stood up and stalked to his uniform where it hung from being sanitized for the night. He began to suit up.

Jim scratched his head, "Joe, it's the middle of the night!"

Dredd stepped into his pants, stretching the leather snugly into place. As he grabbed his jacket to swing it on, Jim grabbed the other sleeve, preventing the judge from shrugging into this gear. Dredd looked at him, tugging at his uniform in Jim's grip. "Let go," he demanded.

Hugging the material tighter, Jim shook his head. "I know you are just planning to go over to my block, just stop!" Jim groaned, "It's the middle of the damn night."

Dredd paused to look hard at Jim, then yanked the jacket back, sending the blond man backward to land on the carpet on his backside, "It's not your block anymore."

Jim's fists pounded the ground on both sides of his thighs and he glowered up at the larger man. The clock projected the time, 3:00 AM, onto the wall in red. Joe swung his jacket on, and zipped it up to the neck without taking his glare off of the young man threatening a tantrum on his floor.

"You'll just go and get killed," Jim huffed, "and I'll be sent back there even sooner and they'll torture me before they murder me."

Pulling a glove on and flexing his fingers, Joe regarded Jim with an impassive frown.

It drove Jim wild that the lawman refused to argue with him. He looked around the floor where he was sitting, strewn with books and bags and boxes. In the middle of it all were Joe's boots. He grabbed one and wung it at the judge with all his might.

Joe caught it, quirking one eyebrow dangerously, then slipped his foot inside.

Jim grabbed the other boot furiously, holding it behind his head, poised to throw it. Joe looked ready to catch it so Jim turned and threw it across the room, out the door where it crashed into the warzone of books that was the kitchen.

Wearing one glove and one boot and not yet strapped into his utility belt, Dredd advanced on Jim, fisting his grip into the front of the young man's t-shirt and lifting him to his feet. He walked Jim to the far wall and pushed him up against it.

Chest heaving, Jim did his best to look tough despite the display of force from Joe that had him up on his toes. Finally, a look of determination crossed Jim's face. He ran a hand through his pillow-smashed hair and a hard look crossed his face. With one finger poked hard into the middle of Joe's flak-covered chest, Jim shouted, "Get your drokking hands off me, Joe!"

The stunned lawman released his grip on Jim's shirt, allowing the kid to sink back onto the pads of his feet.

Jim used his palms on both hands to slam into the judges chest, knocking him back away from him a step. "What's your drokking problem?" Jim demanded, a mixture of fury and sadness making his voice crack a little, he was flushed from red down to his belly which showed from the way Joe had bunched up his t-shirt. "I had a bad dream and you think leaving me here alone so you can go get killed in the very scene of my nightmare is a good idea? Screw you. I wanted to tell you about my feelings because I thought you gave a shit about me. I didn't know you were interrogating me like a witness!" Jim slammed the underside of his fist into Joe's chest for emphasis.

The shocked judge stood there looking at his pest, wondering where Jim's sudden, brazen insolence had come from. No one talked to Judge Dredd like that. No one poked their fingers into his chest or beat on him like that, either. His mouth twitched as Jim threw a fit in front of him.

When Joe said nothing, Jim threw his hands in the air and stomped over to the bed, stuffing himself into the covers dramatically.

Joe looked at him, trying to figure out why he was so upset. He was going to go take care of the problem. Jim wouldn't ever have to worry about that gang again. However, the blue eyes that glowered at him from bed were unrelenting in their impetuous rage.

He wasn't sure what to do. Half-dressed, raring to go bust some skulls over Jim's mistreatment, the judge wavered on his feet.

Jim sat up in bed and snapped at the lumbering ox of a man, "If you don't get back in this bed, I swear to grud, Joe!" Jim's furious brow looked unnatural on the kid. He punched his pillow twice then let his head smack into it while muttering under his breath, "I'll toss your drokking helmet out the drokking window."

That got Joe's attention. He wasn't a fan of being threatened and Jim ought to tread lightly when it came to his uniform. Especially after the little stunt he pulled.

When Jim's breath hitched in his chest, Joe pulled his glove off and set it back on the dresser. He strapped his boot, hung his jacket back up and finally bent over as he shucked his leather pants off his legs. When he climbed naked back into the bed, Jim's eyes were shiny with tears. Drokk, he couldn't win with this kid.

Jim latched onto Dredd's torso with both arms and pressed his sloppy face into the big man's chest, rolling his face around and accidentally tugging a bit at the chest hair matted there.

Placing a hand in Jim's hair, his fingers cording through the golden mop, Joe sighed. He knew he wasn't going to get any more sleep tonight and the kid was gonna cling to him for hours.

Jim, however, had other plans. His arm slid down between their bodies and his hot hand wrapped around the girth of Joe's cock. He lifted his head up slowly and ended up looking into the chin of the gruff man. He waited for Joe to lower his head and look at him. He felt the dick in his hand swell and harden, growing heavier and hotter in its passion. It wasn't until Jim had massaged him into a steel rod that Dredd met his eyes.

"Get on your back," Jim instructed, his soft fingers leaving Joe's cock and causing the man to grunt deep in his throat.

Still, he obeyed, turning in the sheets until he was flat on his back. Jim drew his shirt up over his head and tossed it to the floor then pulled open the side drawer and retrieved the tub of vaseline he'd found in the bathroom earlier that week. Joe watched, his erection tenting the sheets and his mouth pulling open a little as Jim slid up onto his knees and scooped a healthy dollop of jelly onto his fingers before stretching his arm back and pressing the lubricant into his own opening.

Joe felt paralyzed. He couldn't tear his eyes off of the scene. Jim's face was flushed and his hand pulsed behind him. All the while, he locked his eyes lustily on the judge. Jim's thick, libidinous lips were parted as he pressed the side of his face into the mattress, raising his hips even higher as his fingers worked to grease his passage.

When Joe tried to sit up, his mouth clamping shut again, Jim panted, "I said stay on your back."

The young man was testing the waters of control and Joe wasn't going to tolerate that. He stayed upright where he could get a better view of Jim's activities. '

Jim finally stopped and sat up, his own cock swaying in front of him pink and shiny. He put his hands on Joe's chest and pressed him back down against the bed. He dragged one knee slowly over Dredd's belly, his shin bending at the thick cock as he moved to straddle his silent, brooding lover.

Jim scooted down low on Dredd's knees, so he could run his tongue up the side of Joe's dick before dipping down and pulling Joe's testicles into his mouth, his tongue running over them back and forth.

There was an almost sick, pleasurable yank in Dredd's stomach as Jim's satin mouth sucked at his balls, his face smashed into the thick thighs that fenced them. Jim pushed at Joe's knees, widening his legs slightly so he could dip lower and suck and twist his tongue into each knob in turn.

Joe felt noises erupting from his own throat that he was powerless to stop. His hands gripped at Jim's hair too hard and he had to resist the urge to force the kid's mouth over the top of his aching dick.

When Jim felt the urgency in Joe's frame, he sat up and petted at the thick, curling mane of hair around the judge's meaty cock. He grinned down at Joe and asked, "Are you ready?"

The scowl on Dredd's face turn ed into oblong circle as Jim slid his hips forward and gripped at Joe's stem, directing the head against the thickly lubricated entrance hidden in his fleshy cheeks.

Jim slid slowly down then popped up again, sinking a little lower with each pass until the head of Joe's cock slipped inside of him. Both of them gasped together as Jim sank lower and lower, until he was full seated.

His fingers snapping out and rotating against Joe's chest, his thumbs running over the nipples, Jim leaned forward, pulling at Joe's organ and placed a kiss on Joe's chin. He nipped at the strong feature with his lips, feeling the stubble on his soft skin and under his tongue. When he pulled away he said, "Thank you for staying," and began to lift his torso up and down, bouncing on the rigid member slowly.

Big, calloused hands found his skinny waist, trying to help set the pace but Jim brushed at him, grinning sadistically down at the desperate man. He wagged a finger at Joe and slowed all the more.

Utterly unamused, his body feverish with need, Joe gripped hard at Jim's hips and toppled him sideways, still impaled. He got to his knees, dragging Jim with him, and began to rock into Jim's cavity with force. His hips pistoned hard and his hands pulled at the weighty backside, spreading Jim's cheeks as far as he could so he could watch his cock slide in and out of the abused muscle.

Jim moaned in ecstasy, grabbing onto a pillow and rubbing his face against it. One arm reached back and tugged at his own dick.

Joe tossed his head back as he pistoned into Jim, the sound of the kid's moaning was driving him crazy. Jim's hips were sinking as the kid let his knees fall farther apart. Joe hoisted him back up and felt his self control slipping away as he pumped harder into Jim, his fingers kneading at the thick, malleable globes of his ass. He gave Jim's rump a hearty smack and felt his body begin to lock in preparation of release.

Dredd's fingers dug into Jim's hips as he came, his cock pulsing inside of the kid until it was emptied. Jim panted, his back arching and dipping and his spine rolling still, his sweaty forehead ground into the sheets.

Joe pulled out of Jim, watching his opening shrink back. Still frenzied in his passions, he flipped Jim over so he could see the kid's ruddy face, his mouth open and loose. Joe bent his head down and fit his mouth over Jim's cock.

Jim's jaw hung slack in surprise. Joe's mouth was a frowny, scowling command factory. It twitched and growled and grimaced all day, every day. So, feeling Joe's warm, soft tongue circle the tip of his cock and his wet lips stretch to cover his teeth was more than a little unexpected and Jim found himself holding his breath as if making a sound would somehow make the Judge change his mind.

It didn't take long for Jim to smooth his sweaty palms across the back of Joe's neck and sputter, "I'm gonna come, J-joe."

Dredd lifted his mouth away and stroked his hand up Jim's cock three times and watched the kid shoot onto his own belly, his seed spilling down the lawman's hand and over his fingers. Jim trembled in the bed, recovering from the experience and catching at his breath.

Jim grabbed a tissue from the bedstand and smeared at his stomach and chest while Dredd watched, dragging himself back up to his pillow and pulling the covers around his body, a slightly bewildered look on his normally blank face.

Letting the tissues fall off the side of the bed, Jim snuggled into the covers as well, slipping close enough to Dredd that he could tangle his legs into the larger man.

Jim leaned over Joe to turn the lights back off and settled happily against his pillow once more. "That was really…amazing." Jim whispered in the dark, his chest still buzzing with butterflies from the whole ordeal. He waited a few minutes before turning into Dredd, pressing his backside into the man's belly so he could be the little spoon.

He felt Joe's hand slip over his hip and draw him nearer, staying in place, possessively.

As they laid in the silence of the room, Jim felt safe enough to explain his outburst to Joe. "I'm sorry about yelling at you," Jim whispered into the darkness. "That was.. I know I was way out of line. But you were kinda being a dick back there, Joe, taking off like that in the middle of the night. So I guess freaked out...a little."

He took a few breaths before he continued, "I know you don't want to hear it, but I feel really confused about us. I mean, you bought me all this stuff yesterday and you are taking such good care of me. But you can't even stop and listen to me talk without trying to suit up and go out and get yourself killed. And what happens to me when you get sick of me me? Are you gonna throw me in the cubes? Or send me back to my block? Or..._what?_"

No response was given so after a few beats, Jim continued nervously, "I just feel like I'm already fallen for you and I don't know how you feel. Though this was great tonight, really. I've never been...I just feel really lucky and really unsure at the same time."

Jim waited longer this time, wondering if he could make Joe use his words. He stirred gently in the sheets. Finally, he groaned, "Joe?"

The only response he received was a loud, sharp snoring noise. The judge had fallen to pouted into his pillow, wondering how much the infuriating man heard before he dropped off.

He nestled himself deeper into Joe, giving up on the pillow talk for tonight. He closed his eyes and focused on the warm feeling of the bed, a small smile slipping across his lips as Dredd's hand on his hip snaked to hold at his belly.


	10. Chapter 10

**Housepest: Chapter 10**

Jim was like a humming bird in the morning. When he woke up, Dredd was already gone, out on his shift. Jim was fairly certain that Dredd was investigating his old block today and the thought made him feel sick to his stomach so instead he focused on cleaning up the unholy mess that was Dredd's apartment.

He finished building the final bookshelf and walked it into place beside the others. He then began the slow process of putting away his books. The closest thing to a bookshelf he'd ever had in the past was a broken, partially melted refrigerator. He could have spent hours organizing by genre, or author, title, or spine color, but he just lined them into the shelves, knowing he would have more time for that later.

It took all morning and a better part of the afternoon to get the books out of the boxes and onto the shelves. He removed them from the stacks on Joe's dresser and crushed the boxes, stuffing them into the garbage chute for recyc. The books put away, Jim set to dusting. The delivery had left a fine layer of filth all over the apartment from the harsh air outside and Jim took care to clean off all the surfaces. He even dared to polish Dredd's extra helmet, remembering the way it felt on his head, chewing his lip the whole time.

When Jim finished sweeping the floors, he dragged his forearm across his forehead and examined his handiwork. The place was spotless and it was nearly time for Dredd to come home. Jim rushed to shower in the freshly scrubbed bathroom so he could start dinner before Joe made it home from work. He sloughed off his dirty pajamas and tipped them into the hamper then rolled his sweat soaked underpants off his backside and down his thighs, stepping out of those and tossing them in as well. He honestly never imagined cleaning a small but messy apartment could be so much work, but then again, he hadn't ever tried it before.

Jim stepped in the warm stream and smiled, rolling his shoulders in the pressurized water. The shower in his old apartment had been a mildewed dribble and the water came out brown at first when it came out at all. He turned his mouth up to the spray and let it pool and flow down his chin.

He heard a bump in the apartment and his hands rushed to the knobs. "Are you back, Joe?" he called out from the shower.

Not getting a response, Jim strained to listen, the soap in his hair running into his right eye. He closed it and slammed the water back on, rinsing himself quickly and stepping out to towel off. He heard Joe's familiar sigh as he scrubbed at his wet hair with his towel then wrapped it around his waist and stepped out to the bedroom where Joe was hanging up his uniform.

The judge looked over his shoulder at the kid emerging from the steamy bathroom, his wet blond hair sticking up in every direction and nothing but a towel around his slim hips. He meant to only glance but found himself staring. Finally, running a hand up through his sweaty hair, Dredd rasped, "You cleaned up your mess."

Jim nodded and opened the dresser drawer with his clothing in it, pulling out a pair of underwear and a tank top. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to look at Joe who pulled him roughly forward and pressed his mouth into Jim's stunned lips, the towel falling away, pooling to the floor around Jim's naked feet.

Jim laughed into Dredd's mouth as the big man pawed at his naked ass, lifting him up and carrying him across the room, breaking the kiss to drop Jim's still wet body onto the bed. He placed one knee on the bed while staring down intently at the pale, peeled kid. Joe tugged at the zipper to his pants, his muscular arms moving quickly and purposefully.

He pulled a tube of lube from his pocket, clearly newly purchased and popped the top. Joe smeared a fingerful of the greasy lube up between Jim's cheeks and against his opening. Jim stopped laughing and sucked his fingertips, a deep blush creeping up his neck and face as the booted judge pushed his leather pants down enough to free his heavy genitals. Wasting no time, Joe lifted Jim under his knees and impaled him slowly while Jim panted and gripped at the bedspread.

Slipping his knee off the bed and resting his foot to the floor, Dredd yanked Jim closer to the edge of the bed so he could get a better grip on younger man. He grunted as he sped up his thrusts, breathing through his teeth and in shuddering puffs. Jim wrapped one leg behind Dredd's back so the larger man could curl his fist around Jim's dick and tug with the rhythm of his hips.

Joe gritted his teeth as he bounced Jim against the mattress. The blond man writhed and shock in ecstasy.

Jim came up over Dredd's hand and across his own stomach and chest with a cry. He puffed with his head to the side as Joe hoisted him under his knees once again and lifted the kid enough to hammer himself to completion. Jim's dick flopped wildly against his crunched belly until Joe spent himself against the fleshy mounds of the blond man's ass.

With a wet pop, Joe pulled away from Jim, dropping the smaller man limp against the bed and bending to unlace his boots. Joe pushes his pants off past his feet and disappeared into the bathroom. Moments later, when his ears had stopped roaring from his orgasm, Jim noted the squeak of the shower water turning on.

Jim slid off the bed and to his knees. He grabbed Joe's boots and struggled to his feet, depositing them into the closet. Then he hung up the uniform pants in the sanitizer. He stretched and stepped into his underwear and pulled the tank top over his head. He needed to clean more often if that was Joe's reaction to a tidy apartment.

Jim pulled on a pair of cotton pants and headed happily to the kitchen to prepare a meal. He opened the fridge and stared inside. They were getting low on everything. Jim roved the shelves with his eyes and twisted his mouth in disappointment.

Dredd came up behind him and bumped him gently to the side to grab a beer. His hand paused as he discovered the empty shelf.

"What do you want for dinner, Joe?" Jim asked, worming himself back into position in front of the fridge light. "We have a….hmmmmm lunch meat and eggs?" He pulled the egg carton out of the fridge and opened it. "Scratch that, no eggs." He dropped the empty package into the trash.

The judge growled low in his throat and leaned against the countertop, annoyed. "We'll go get something."

Jim shut the fridge and looked at the larger man in surprise. He wasted no time on questions. "I'll go get dressed!" he said, skittering from the room.

Rubbing at the back of his neck and shoulder, Joe sighed and followed Jim into the bedroom. He watched Jim pull a pair of jeans up over his bright green briefs and tore his eyes away. The judge pulled a jacket on and a pair of sunglasses. Even in the evenings, the judge's eyes were not well adjusted to the light of the city, considering he almost always looked through his tinted visor.

"You're going out like that?" Jim asked, his eyes comically wide, fixing on the judge who was looping his belt though his pants, positioning the big metal buckle over the button.

Joe nodded, looking down at himself. Without the uniform he was just a larger than average citizen stuffed into a jacket and a pair of jeans. The blond man couldn't stop looking at him.

"Where we going?" Jim asked, pulling his topsiders on without socks and rolling his pant cuffs up a bit. He wore a bright colored shirt with a loose, gauzy, black button up tied over it. They couldn't look like a more mismatched pair.

"Out," Dredd said, stepping into his boots and lacing each one in turn.

Shrinking his shoulders, Jim sighed and folded his arms over his chest, fixing the big man with an exasperated look.

"You ready?" Joe asked, heading for the exit without waiting for a reply. He heard Jim's hurried footsteps behind him and nodded to himself.

They rode the elevator down. It was strange to see Joe out of his uniform outside of the apartment. When the elevator reached the main level, Joe took off toward the exit and JIm was once again jogging to keep up with the large man.

The judge in civilian clothing hurtled down the street on foot while Jim worked hard to keep up, hooking his fingers around the crook of the other man's elbow and holding on tight, slowing the march.

Joe stopped and hailed a cab. As Jim suspected, they were leaving their home sector again. Joe waited for Jim to slide into the cab and then got in after him, barking the name of a block to the driver.

"Wanna go where no one will recognize you?" Jim asked, quirking an amused eyebrow.

"No one would," Joe said, not even turning his face to Jim. He stared out the window as the nosey cab driver turned over his shoulder to spy at him, wondering who he could be. Then he glared at Jim and saw a big smile on the kid's face. The kid talked non-stop all the way to their destination, never landing on a single topic for very long. He was clearly excited to be out and about. The tortured cabbie raised his eyebrows in the rearview mirror over and over and sped them to their destinations, desperate to get the chattering man out his vehicle.

When they arrived at the block, once again in a nicer sector than their own, Joe actually ushered Jim inside rather than forging ahead without him. The blond wasn't sure what was worse, jogging to keep up with Dredd or being prodded along by the insistent fingers of the larger man.

The block was well kept and the bottom floor was lined with small shops and restaurants. Joe was leading them toward a steakhouse but Jim wanted to look around. Anything outside of the walls of the apartment was exciting for Jim, who felt cooped up recently. He stopped walking, despite the pressing hands that urged him forward and turned to Joe with his big blue eyes in full. "Can we check out the shops a little first?" he begged,

Joe looked past the puppy dog eyes and around the building as if scoping out the exits.

"I'm not hungry yet," Jim lied, his hand pawing at Joe's jacket lightly. It was far too warm for wearing a jacket, but the guy didn't seem to care. Jim had pointed it out about ten times already.

He caught Jim's hand in his and held it a moment, squeezing and dropping it away from his coat. "Okay," he breathed out, annoyed.

Jim hid his excitement poorly and headed for one of many shops. Joe trailed him, his scowl seemed less effective without his helmet to frame it on his face. There spent far too long in a furniture shop where Jim felt the need to take every chair for a test drive. When Joe was finally tired of it, he took Jim's wrist and coaxed him from the store.

Practically dragging the younger man toward the steakhouse, Joe was regretting this whole outing. Jim peeled at the fingers on his wrist and dragged his feet. "One more store, Joe," he grumbled, finally breaking out of the grip.

With a huge sigh, Joe watched Jim dart into a nostalgia shop. He stood by the front of the shop and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Jim poke around the piles of pre-radiation junk with a happy smile on his soft face. Jim disappeared deep into the store which was stacked with musty, molding artifacts mixed with plastic made crap, and filthy old trash picked from landfills and most likely radiated and poisonous.

However, just as quickly as Jim slipped out of sight, he was back again, smiling and exiting the shop, tugging on Joe's elbow. "Boy, I'm famished!" he exclaimed.

Joe stumbled in surprise at first but followed the kid who went from not hungry to starving in the space of a minute. He looked Jim up and down and growled, halting their progress and pressing Jim into a nearby wall with sudden force.

"Ow!" Jim complained lamely as Joe Dredd pressed the side of his face into the concrete wall. They were in a small alcove between shops but Jim was keenly aware of the passersby. Joe kicked Jim's feet apart and ran his free hand down the younger man's back, stopping when his fingertips found the hard edge of an object underneath the kid's shirt. He lifted the fabric to reveal an old book tucked into the back of Jim's pants. He wrenched the book out and held it up, lifting his hand off Jim's head so he could see the yellowing tome.

"How'd that get there?" Jim asked, out of breath, attempting to add a playful lilt to his unsteady voice.

Dredd set his eyes on Jim steadily, his face looking red as he gripped the book. His unwavering gaze made the guilty man squirm.

"Lemme explain-" Jim stated but clamped his mouth shut when the book smacked into his backside. He didn't want this to happen in public so he spun quickly, leaning his back into the wall. "Joe-It isn't as bad as you think and it was just-"

"Shut up," Joe whispered out furiously. "Stand here and don't drokking move."

Jim swallowed hard as Joe turned and strode down the courtyard back to the shop. He slumped his shoulders and pouted and dared not move as Dredd stormed off to take back his book. Jim knew he was caught and he knew what to expect from his overbearing keeper. He couldn't even begrudge Joe for getting upset. It was wrong. He had wanted the book and old habits die hard.

Before his thoughts could delve into his own past too deeply, Joe returned and clapped a large hand around his wrist and pulled Jim out of the alcove so hard he nearly threw him to the ground. Then he took off in the direction of the restaurant and Jim followed silently, feeling the brooding anger seeping off of his furious lover.

"Joe, I-" Jim's attempt at talking was squashed by Joe holding up a hand in his face. He groaned and followed silently after that.

When they reached the restaurant, the wait staff seemed to recognize Joe and directed them immediately to a dark booth in the back corner. Jim slid into the booth opposite Joe, nervously grabbing the cloth napkin wrapped bundle of silverware and gripping it nervously. Joe eyeballed him as if he suspected Jim was thinking about stealing the cutlery.

Sheepishly, Jim dropped his hands to his sides. The waitress came over but Joe waved away the menus. "A porterhouse, medium rare. A beer. He'll have a strip steak, medium, and a milk."

The woman nodded and took off.

"Why did you order for me?" Jim asked, deflated. He didn't want any fucking milk.

Joe took his sunglasses off and folded them, setting them on the table. He fixed Jim with a steady glower, "You don't seem capable of making good choices on your own."

"It was just a little book and-"

Joe held up a hand again, "Save it, creep."

Jim huffed in his side of the booth, folding his arms and pouting with his head down. Joe couldn't care less. He was happy to sit in silence while Jim thought about the ramifications of his actions. Joe was a judge. Committing crimes while out with him was the dumbest thing his young companion could have possibly done.

When their food arrived, Joe clicked his fingers at Jim and was unsurprised when the kid sat up, revealing red, runny eyes. The waitress set their plates down quickly, and the bill at the same time. That was how Joe always did it when he came to this place. He dropped his credit stick on the table and let her run the amount.

"Thanks for dining with us," she said and scurried off.

They ate in silence. Joe drank his beer and Jim ignored his milk.

It was the longest meal of Jim's life. His food was delicious but he could barely taste it. HIs stomach was in knots over the impending trip home. He was certain he knew what was coming and that there would be little he could do to stop it. Several times during the meal, Jim felt his stomach shift like a pancake, flipping over and giving him a dizzy wave of nausea and a confusing stir of excitement.

As they polished off their plates, Jim noticed that Joe was eyeballing the untouched glass of milk, his gaze moving back and forth between the cup and Jim.

Fed up with the ruined evening out, Jim pushed the milk gently in Dredd's direction, offering it to him with a gesture of his hand.

The seething lawman picked the glass up and set it back down in front of Jim, waiting.

Jim considered sliding the milk off the edge of the table in a fit and letting the glass shatter to the floor. He was already in trouble, it would be almost amusing to see the old man sputter in shock and anger. However, common sense won the silent battle in Jim's head and he picked up the glass with a frown and drank the milk down in one long, giant gulp, his throat bobbing with each swallow. When he finished he slammed the empty glass down, gasping for air loudly, and smeared his wrist over his mouth to get rid of his milk mustache.

Dredd looked momentarily satisfied and Jim made a face. He couldn't remember the last time he drank a glass of milk. After a few more minutes of silence, Jim couldn't take the tension anymore.

He finally muttered, "I'm sorry, Joe. Old habits die hard."

Joe wiped at his mouth with his napkin and set it on top of his plate. All that was left was a T-shaped bone and juices. "Let's go home, pest," he sighed. As curt as they were, the words were meaningful to Jim and he nodded, sliding himself out of the booth and following Joe out of the steakhouse. The judge in civilian clothes placed his sunglasses back on his face before emerging into the well-lit block and leading them out to hail a cab.

The cab ride was silent. Jim was uncharacteristically quiet and Joe seemed eerily calm. He paid the cabbie and walked into their home block with Jim. The elevator ride up was crowded with people and offered a respite from the shuddering silence.

In the apartment once again, Joe shut and locked the door then turned around and took hold of Jim's upper arm to better drag him. However, Jim twisted out of his grip and shoved the larger man back with both palms. "Wait, just drokking wait!" the blonde shouted.

Joe folded his large arms and paused but didn't wait to hear what Jim had to say. "I'm a judge," he growled, "I can't keep lying for you."

Sucking a big breath of air into his lungs, Jim puffed and said, "I know, but...I didn't think about it. I just…" he sighed and rocked on his feet then looked up at Dredd sharply, "What is this, Joe? What am I to you? How do I know when you're going to snap and get rid of me?"

Dredd's scowl flickered gently on his lips. He observed Jim as he had all night through dinner. The kid was pushing his buttons, attempting to get himself sent back to the streets to prove that the lawman wasn't serious. He shot out a hand and grabbed Jim once again by the upper arm, dragging him into the living room and gesturing to the rows of bookshelves. "This proof enough, pest?" Joe asked.

Jim frowned, "I can't promise I won't...mess up again."

The judge nodded slowly and sat down on the couch, patting his thigh.

"Just like that, we're done talking this out?" Jim asked, attempting to sound indignant but the waver in voice gave him away.

Joe caught his wrist and pulled the scrawny thief down onto his lap. Dredd dragged the kid's pants down over his backside while trapping his skinny legs under one heavy thigh. "When you want something, just ask," Joe said, cutting off Jim's inevitable smart reply with a heavy swat to his upturned backside.

The assault on Jim's behind wasn't nearly as bad as the first time, where the kid had almost gotten himself killed. It still hurt, but Joe was driving a much less dangerous lesson home. He watched Jim's feet kick out, his topsiders landing across the room as he struggled to find a good place for his hands. He settled on hugging Joe's leg as the rain of smacks pinkening the pale but perfect skin of his behind.

Jim twisted the denim of Joe's jeans in his fists and chewed his bottom lip as Joe spanked him. He was trying hard to keep himself together. Despite the tears rolling off the end of his nose and into the carpet, Jim's body was betraying him. His cock rubbed against the rough fabric of Joe's pants and strained against the growing need to release.

Dredd was seemingly unaware of Jim's conundrum, picking up the pace and ensuring that Jim's behind would smart for the rest of the night at least, he didn't seem to register the full body shudder that shook his moaning partner.

Sucking at the air, Jim unwound his muscles as Joe stopped the onslaught, rubbing a warm palm up the kids back and over the heated skin of his bottom.

It wasn't until Jim sat up that Joe saw the mess on his jeans. "Did you…" he halted his words and looked at the deep flush of red that dragged up Jim's face. "Bed, pest."

Jim stood up, rubbing at his backside, an unhappy look on his ruddy face. Joe halted him from leaving just yet. He stood up and put a hand on the side of Jim's face, "No more stealing, kid," he said, "Now that you're mine."

Jim blushed even deeper than Dredd thought possible and nodded. Now he understood his relationship with the big man, or, he understood it better than he had ever before. He walked off on jelly legs to get himself ready for bed while Joe watched, a heavy sigh in his chest.

Dredd stripped his pants off and put them in the hamper and performed his nightly hygiene rituals. Jim was already in bed when he emerged, looking pink and unsure.

Joe walked to where his jacket hung over the chair in the room and retrieved something. He walked to the kid and held out the book from the shop. "I _paid _for it," Joe said.

Jim took the old book in his hands, running his fingers over the cover in awe, wiping off the splash of a teardrop. The older man pulled back the sheets and slipped into the bed, settling himself against the pillow.

Jim set the book on the dresser lovingly and latched himself onto Joe, a happy smile on his face. "I love you," Jim grinned into the big man's shoulder.

Joe reached out and snapped the lights out. "Yeah," he grunted out in the dark.


	11. Chapter 11

**Housepest 11**

Joe sat at the kitchen table in his uniform pants, belt, and boots with a tank top on his upper half. He was waiting for breakfast with pavlovian anticipation, seething into a newspaper while Jim attempted to cobble a decent meal together. Only the disruptive, clanking slam of the fridge tore the man's dark eyes away from the morning news.

"You are out of food," the blond haired man complained. He wore nothing but his underpants and socks as he went up on his toes to open the top cupboards and stare at the empty containers. He yanked out a near-empty box of crackers and sighed, shifting things around testily and uselessly.

Finally he blew the dust off the top off the top of an oatmeal container from above the fridge and stooped to drag a pan out from under the stove. "This is going to be a really boring breakfast," Jim threatened as he held the pan under the faucet, "and there's only enough for each of us to have some. You're going to have to give me some credits so I can go to the store."

"No," Dredd said, his eyes falling back to the newsprint in his hands.

Jim stirred the oatmeal over the stove and stewed in silence for a few long seconds before he turned his head to glare at the muscled judge. "What am I supposed to eat while you are gone all day?" he posed the question with righteous indignation in his voice, the stirring spoon scraping along the bottom of the pan continuously. "Huh, Joe?"

Shifting in annoyance, Dredd met Jim's eyes once again. "I'll take you shopping tonight after my shift, pest," he returned to his reading, ignoring the noisy anger that Jim expressed by slamming the pot around and clambering two bowls from the cupboard.

When Jim set the oatmeal down in front of Joe, the spoon the clanged against the edge of the bowl. "We don't have anything sweet to add to it," Jim huffed, plopping his underwear-clad behind into his chair and stirring at his own porridge with a sneer, "Not even milk."

Joe lifted a heaped spoonful to his mouth and swallowed it down, enjoying the warmth. Jim waited for him to make a displeased face at the cardboard taste of the oats but it never came. In fact, Joe seemed to enjoy the gruel.

Jim stuck a spoonful in his own mouth and frowned. It was just on the other side of too hot and it tasted like the box it came in. He pushed the bowl away rested his head on his arms against the table with a sad push of breath.

"Eat, Pest," Joe said, nudging the bowl at him.

"Please?" Jim begged, lifting his head enough to look at Joe. When the big man continued to read undisturbed, Jim reached over and snatched the paper from Joe's grip and clutched it to his chest, scrunching it into a wrinkled mess. "Please, Joe? Let me go grocery shopping today. I wanna prove to you that I'm good for something around here."

Dredd took another bite of his oatmeal which was almost gone already. He swallowed thickly and held out his hand for the newspaper back. Jim gave him a tepid look and made no motion to hand it back. "Jim…" Dredd said and it sounded like a cross between a question and a warning.

"I know stealing the book last night was bad but I am asking for credits. You said yesterday that when I want something I should ask," Jim said, throwing Joe's words back at him. "I'm asking for money so I can buy food for both of us."

Joe breathed out his nose. "Eat your breakfast."

"I can't eat that slop" Jim said, pushing the bowl away with a full pout on his lips. "I'm going back to bed."

Jim dropped the ruined paper on the table, screeched his chair back and stalked toward the bedroom. Joe stood up quickly and hooked Jim's arm, yanking him close and looking down on the kid, "Just groceries?" he asked gruffly, tipping Jim's chin up and looking into his swimming pool eyes. "And no more stealing?" His free hand flexed so close to Jim's side that he felt the heat rising off the kid's naked skin, resisting the urge to grab at the plump behind barely contained by the stretchy cotton underpants. The judge grumbled, "And put some drokking clothes on."

A wide grin grew across Jim's face and he nodded quickly, leaning his hips into Joe seductively. The lawman drew a credit stick from his pocket and checked the balance before placing it in Jim's palm with some hesitation. "I'll have dinner waiting for you and everything," Jim promised, twisting out of Joe's grip and cradling the credit stick in his palm.

Joe shrugged his flak jacket on and pulled on his gloves. Before capping himself off with the helmet, he turned his eyes to Jim. The kid was still in his underwear, his skinny body pasty and on display as he bent over the counter, scribbling a shopping list. "Get beer," Joe said, "And be careful." Despite his self-proclaimed street savvy, Dredd knew the kid was over his head in the city.

"_You_ be safe," Jim countered, looking up from his list with an impish grin. Dredd placed the helmet on his head and sighed, heading out for work later than usual. Jim watched him go

quietly, waiting for the door to shut before rushing to get himself dressed. He jumped into his tight red pants and pulled on a black T-shirt and a striped button-up. He checked himself in the mirror, admiring his ass before toeing into his shoes and jamming the credit stick into his front pocket.

Jim picked up his identity and key cards and fled the apartment happily. He felt electric on the elevator, excited to buy food in the grocery store without worrying about a budget. Jim hadn't ever had this many credits in his whole life.

On his way to the grocery store, he stopped in front of a little book store stuffed into one of the old buildings that nestled between the Starscrapers of the new world. His blond head bobbled at the display window, hot breath fogging the view of the old, brown tomes on display. Toes inverted, hips leaning forward, Jim felt the little, digital credit stick in his pocket pressing into his side, calling to him.

However, he was on a mission to prove himself to Joe so he peeled away from the store window without even going in because he knew his willpower would crumble if he stepped inside. He pushed forward until the massive supermarket came into view. Jim pulled out a cart from the rows, his hands flexing on the metal handle as he pushed through the sliding doors into the big store.

With a growling stomach, Jim grabbed every kind of food that looked good to him and in no time at all, he was leaning his chest into the heaped cart just to get it down the isles. Abandoning his list, Jim was finally able to get his hands on all the cookies and meals that he never could afford before. He was nearly ready to check out when the cart stopped moving altogether.

He pushed against it uselessly and wondered if he had overfilled it with the cases of beer when he heard a familiar laugh and looked up, his face drained of color from fear.

"So it's true," the man on the other side of his cart said in false awe, "I almost didn't believe it when one of my boys said they saw you skipping into this store."

Jim was silent, his eyes darting to the sides in search of an easy escape. Shadows of other men fell around him on all sides and he knew that there was no safe exit.

"Here I thought, all this time, you was rotting in a cube," the man clutched his chest theatrically. "I was so sad and worried about you, Jimmy. Not to mention that I was suffering, too, losing one my cooks and my best bitch in one go."

"I'm…" Jim started to apologize but chewed his lip instead. Roach was a cruel man and Jim had all but forgotten how it made him feel to be around the ruthless drug lord and pimp.

Roach came around the cart and leaned his head in close to Jim, bending his ear with two fingers, waiting to hear what the young blond man had to say. When Jim was silent for too long, the thug grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt and slammed him into an aisle. It rained canned goods down on Jim's blond head painfully as his shoulders rocked the shelves. "Where've you been all this time, you drokking little bastard?" Roach demanded, "Been so much judge activity in the block we've had to relocate. You little snitch. Is that how you got money to buy these fancy new clothes and all this drokking food?"

Jim's mouth hung open uselessly and his jaw worked silently.

"Look at you, dressed like a rich little tart," he said, grabbing at Jim's shirt and ripping it open, sending buttons down both directions of the aisle. Jim gasped at the air. "I bet you got some sugar daddy putting these fancy clothes on you, huh?" Roach punctuated the end of his sentence with a heavy slap to the side of Jim's face with his cupped hand, boxing his ear. "Answer me, Jimmy," he said, smacking his ear again.

Jim howled in pain, a trickle of blood ran from his ear as he winced and tried to protest but Roach moved his hand up to his throat. Roach rocked his face forward, slamming his forehead into Jim's nose, sending blood cascading down his lips. Unable to breath, Jim's hands fumbled desperately over the disheveled shelves until he gripped at a can of recycled munce and slammed it into Roach's head as hard as he could, forcing the man to drop him hard against the tiled floor.

Blood dripped down from Roach's hairline and his lackeys began to advance on Jim but the injured ringleader held out an arm to stop them. Jim gasped for air, light bruises on his neck already forming from the fingers that pressed at his windpipe. "At ease, boys," Roach insisted, "Nobody wants to pay for damaged goods. He's mine, remember that."

Jim coughed for air still as Roach approached slowly, pulling a small but heavy leather sap from his back pocket and looping it around his wrist. Jim shied away from the advancing criminal and squeezed his eyes shut in preparation.

He cracked one eye when he heard a gurgling noise and the hushed sound of horrified murmurs. Towering over him was Roach with his eye bulging out of his head, clawing at his throat while a thick-gloved hand closed around it. A familiar, deep voice informed, "He's not yours anymore."

Jim pulled his legs up to his chest as Judge Dredd informed Roach in a slow, even keel that his crimes were numerous and terrible, and that the sentence was death. When he was finished, the man still twitching in the air, his dark eyes boring into Jim, Joe asked, "How do you plead, creep?"

Roach gurgled in response, about the only thing he could muster. Joe put a fist in the base of his spine, eliciting a sharp hollar from the useless dealer. Then the judge placed the lawgiver at the base of his skull and put a bullet through his head, ending his noisy protest permanently.

The lackeys were in suspended motion for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. One man turned around and ran down the aisle, his sneakers squeaking. Dredd pointed his lawgiver and shot a stun round at the fleeing man who shook and fell to the ground, immobile.

"You're all going to the cubes, twenty years, mandatory," Dredd informed the group, "Put down your weapons and surrender."

The six remaining men glanced nervously at each other for half a second before charging the judge, some with chains and crude weapons, others brandishing guns. A man with a blue mohawk and a fashionable gas mask took the judge headon. Joe took him out swiftly with a bullet to the head. As he hit the ground, his gun clattered from his hand and slid across the floor and came to rest at Jim's foot.

The judge slammed his fist under the chin of another approaching thug, flipping him to the ground and slamming his boot in the middle of his back. A bullet ricocheted off the curve of his helmet and hit a gallon of juice by Jim's head, sending the liquid glugging out of the bottle.

One of the thugs swung a heavy chain that crashed against Joe's back, wrapping around to his stomach. A heavy metal rod rang against the back of his helmet and then again across his shoulders, thudding on the thick body armor. The judge gritted his teeth at the barrage of weapons, grunting as closely discharged bullets thudded dully into his body armor over and over again.

Jim raised the gun in his hands and pointed it at one of the criminals, squeezing the trigger and taking the man out, giving Dredd the opening he needed to swing around and use lawgiver to hastily dispatch the rest. He lifted his fist and growled into the com that he had seven bodies for resyk and one perp for the cubes. Then he turned his gaze to Jim whose arms were still locked, hands around the gun, shaking uncontrollably. There was blood down the side of his face from his right ear and drying on his chin and neck from his nose.

Dredd walked over and put his hand over the top of the gun barrel, taking it from Jim with a careful jerk and tossing it atop the bodies behind him. He swayed slightly as Jim attached himself to his leg. The blond man wrapped his arms around one armored thigh, pressing the side of his face into the leather-clad muscle and squeezing with all this might. The judge paused a moment and sighed before reaching down and pulling Jim to his feet, placing on hand under his chin and inspecting his nose and then his ear with a deep scowl.

"He...he...he ruined my new shirt," Jim stammered, still in shock.

Dredd stared at the kid through his tinted visor in disbelief for a few beats before turning and heading down the aisle to zip the stunned perp lying face down by the dairy freezers, temporarily unable to move. When he returned, he said, "C'mon pest, let's get you home."

Jim smeared at the blood on his face with the hem of his ruined shirt and stood still. "I-I'm sorry, Joe," he squeaked pathetically, his shoulders rounding. His ear ached and he could hear nothing on the left side of his head but a high pitched ringing. Sharp jolts of pain shot down his neck from his ear. He turned his good ear toward Joe, unwilling to admit how hurt he was in an effort to lessen the impact of this epic failure.

Joe put a hand on Jim's shoulder and gave it a squeeze then nodded toward the exit.

Jim was surprised but complaint, still not certain he wasn't in some kind of trouble. However, he felt a little better knowing Joe's seething wasn't at him. He pointed at his massive cart of groceries, somehow unscathed and still upright despite the ordeal.

"We don't need all of that," Joe said, turning his head to scope their surroundings.

"I came here and went through all that bullshit just to get this food," Jim huffed, "I'm not leaving without it." His breath still shook but he turned his bloody face up to Dredd defiantly.

Joe picked through the top of the overburdened cart with a sneer. They'd need a cab to get this home. He had followed Jim to the store on foot. Jim shoved the cart toward the checkout with determination despite his ringing head and bloody face, sniffling.

Joe let him go, setting up a cordon on the aisle where juice and blood and were mingling on the floor. Jim waited for the robot to ring and bag his groceries, his chest constricting painfully from the aftermath, tugging at his ruined clothing in frustration.

After hailing a cab and loading his groceries, Joe climbed into the back seat beside Jim who rubbed at his sore, delicate nose with the heel of his fist. " Rowdy Yates," Jim snapped at the driver and rested his back into the chair. His head hurt from the assault and his neck bore Roach's prints in the shape of black and purple bruises.

Dredd sat watching him as the cabbie drove the very short distance home. Jim broke the awkward silence by saying, "You followed me."

Dredd grunted, halfway between righteous and amused.

"You didn't trust me to shop on my own," Jim huffed as the cab came to a halt in front of their home block and he kicked the door open and stepped out into the road before the big man could answer. Dredd paid the cabbie and followed Jim around to the trunk, gathering the heavy groceries on his arms. With over-loaded arms they made their way to the elevator and up into the apartment.

The bags couldn't fit on the counter, flooding the floor. Jim dug through for perishables first, cursing when he found a bag of melted ice cream, a bullet having pierced the container. "Drokk!" he complained lifting the whole bag into the sink. He ran the water over the sticky, chocolate ooze and kicked at the lower cabinets several times until his foot crashed through the door. He pulled his foot out, the shoe dropping off under the sink, sending him stumbling backwards over the bags on the floor and landing on his ass.

Joe took his helmet off and blinked at the kid who was losing his shit over melted ice cream. Jim rubbed at his neck unpleasantly, still crusted with his own blood, then slammed his elbows back into the cabinets in a furious huff. .

Joe stalked over and hauled Jim up off the floor and dragged him to the bathroom. He sat the pathetic creature on the counter and turned the water on full blast in the sink. Once it was hot, Joe soaked a washrag and rang it out, cleaning off the blood under the kid's nose and under his ear. Jim winced in pain at each tilt of his head but Joe was unperturbed.

"You can't throw a fit when things do work out, pest," Joe said, inspecting Jim's ear in concern.

"What?" Jim asked. Joe was speaking into the bad side of his head.

Joe pulled back and looked at him, eyes searching. "Can you hear out of this ear?"

Jim bit his lip and shook his head slowly.

Joe breathed out a frustrated grumble and put his hands on Jim's shoulders. "Take a shower," he ordered, "and get in bed."

"No," Jim said, slipping off the counter and heading back to the kitchen. He dug through the bags and shoved food into cabinets and the fridge. His stomach was growling and his hands were shaking. He wanted to prove to Dredd that he could be helpful and useful. Instead he nearly died and needed to be saved, again.

"Jim," Joe said, watching the kid's frenzied hands.

"I can't even buy milk without causing you trouble," Jim said, checking the eggs before putting them in the fridge. He slammed the door and went for the next grocery bag.

No longer willing to watch the pathetic creature lurch around the kitchen, Joe grabbed Jim by the shoulders and directed him forcibly to the kitchen table, setting him down in a chair. He put one hand under the kid's chin and lifted it, again checking his busted ear. "Stay put, pest," Joe insisted, talking a little louder so the kid could hear him for sure, "I'm going to make you some food before you get into bed."

The big man poked through the bags on the counter and the floor, looking for something quick. He settled on making the kid an omelet. Jim leaned his head on his folded arms, his aching ear pointed down so he could watch Joe break eggs into a pan and cut vegetables with crude precision. Jim's eyes leaked down into his shirt sleeves and his ear stung. His neck ached and the top of his head throbbed where canned goods had rained down on him.

Joe nudged Jim upright in order to set the plate down in front of him. Jim's stomach growled and he dug into the food with a sore jaw. Joe moved back to the stove and made another plate for himself and sat across from Jim to eat, still in his uniform.

"Were you there the whole time, Joe?" Jim asked, cutting through the silence and letting his fork fall to the empty plate. He leaned his elbows on the table and studied the older man, his bright blue eyes looked raw and tired.

The lawman nodded curtly, taking a sensible bite. He waited patiently for Jim to overreact.

The blond was silent for a while, looking down at his hands. When he looked up, his eyes glittered. "Thanks," he said softly.

Joe looked at him a moment then nodded again.

Jim stood up and went into the bathroom and started the shower. While the kid showered, Joe finished putting away the groceries. The cupboards were overflowing, causing the frustrated man to shove boxes of crackers and jars of peanut butter under the sink. He pulled Jim's shoe out and inspected the hole kicked into the cabinet with a deep sigh.

When he was done, Joe found Jim in bed, the covers pulled up to his neck, curled and brooding, the dried blood no longer matted into his hair. When the bigger man came into the room to grab his helmet, Jim looked at him before letting his eyelids fall shut softly. It figures Joe had to get back out there and patrol the city, now that his incompetent boy was home safe and sound.

When Jim felt Joe slide into the covers beside him, he was almost afraid to turn around and confirm that he wasn't just dreaming. Then a big hand slipped over his naked hip and across his belly, pulling him gently backwards against the hard, warm body.

Jim turned into Joe's arms, resting his forehead into the middle of his chest. Joe slid his palm down Jim's shoulders and back, gripping a generous handful of Jim's backside.

Jim pressed his lips into Joe's chest, rubbing his nose against the hair that grew in a soft patch there. He felt the hand on his ass fall away and a finger probe gently at his sore ear. "M'fine," Jim insisted, his words vibrating into Joe's skin.

"You'll see a doctor tomorrow," Joe informed, brushing his thumb beneath Jim's jaw.

Jim shook his head, which made his ear and neck shoot with pain. "No drokking way," he huffed. He hadn't been to the doctor since he was a kid getting his mandatory vaccination and he wasn't going back.

Dredd said nothing, running a hand through Jim's damp hair. The kid was mistaken if he thought visiting the doctor was optional.

The stress of the day and the heavy warmth of the blankets mixed with Dredd's steady heart rhythm drove Jim steadily toward sleep. He drooled on Joe as he napped, afternoon sunlight burning in through the tiny window and illuminating the dust particles in the air with silver and yellow light.

Joe woke Jim with a squeeze to his shoulder. The kid snoozed like a rock ever since he started sleeping in the lawman's bed. He woke and turned, wincing as his sore ear sent electric, high pitched pain down the side of his neck.

"Still hurtin', Kid," Joe said, it wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Nah," Jim lied, rubbing at the back of his head. The lumps on the top of his head had matured into swollen, painful nodes.

Joe set a pair of pants and a shirt down on the bed next to Jim. "Get dressed," he ordered.

Jim looked unhappily at the clothing. He wasn't in the mood to move, let alone get out of bed. However, he dragged the shirt over his head and slid to the edge of the bed to pull his pants on, all under the steady gaze of the waiting judge.

At the doctor's office, Jim learned that he had a perforated eardrum. It would take three months to heal completely and Jim had to hold still while a patch was laid over his ruptured drum. Then his ear was packed with gauze and taped. The doctor prescribed an oral antibiotic and instructed to keep the ear dry.

Eager to leave, Jim was busy gathering his things while Joe took notes on the kid's care. Despite the pain of the situation, Jim was relieved that Roach would no longer bother him. It was worth the possible loss of hearing in his right ear. However, with Joe watching over him, Jim was fairly certain he'd heal properly and punctually.

When they returned to the apartment, Jim slumped into the kitchen and dropped into a chair, his head thrumming still from his bludgeoning. Joe popped the top on the antibiotic and poured Jim a full glass of water. He took Jim's hand and placed the pill in his palm then held the water out.

Jim tossed the pill in his mouth and drank the water. Pleased with Jim's willingness to comply, Joe pulled him to his feet and wrapped his big arms around the slight shoulders of his injured ward. Jim tilted his head up to kiss at Joe's stubbled jawline.

The fevered hands at his pants startled Joe who took a step back and observed Jim's pinkening lips and heaving chest. Joe stepped forward, scooping Jim up into the air and carried him to the bedroom, setting him down gently on the bed.

Jim watched curiously as Joe pulled slowly out of his gear, setting everything meticulously in its proper place. When turned his attention back to Jim, he helped the kid out of his shirt carefully and let it fall to the floor. Next he worked at Jim's pants, looking up, his tongue sliding over his lips in concentration.

Dredd put a hand on the side of Jim's face and Jim placed his over the top of Joe's. Jim was nestles into the pillows comfortably and his eyes were wet and alive as he observed the larger man who hovered over him.

A surprising blush crept up the neck of the muscled judge. He sat up and peeled delicately at the band of elastic that held Jim's underpants to his lithe hips. When Joe freed the little, pink cock, Jim felt his face burn.

Dipping down, Joe rested his upper lip on the tip of Jim's cock which stirred at the attention. Once he was done inhaling the clean and heady scent, Joe drove his mouth down over the warm member with determination. Jim breathed out hard, his body tensing at the sensation. Joe's hands slid down the kid's chest and rested on each side of his ass, holding at the curve of his backside so he could lift Jim ever so slightly.

Jim's hands ached to yank at Joe's hair. Then he pulled at the pillow around his head. It felt great to have the blood in his pounding head travel to a lower part of his body and Joe, despite his obvious hesitation, seemed to observe and respond to Jim's body language like an expert.

After several minutes of intense pleasure, Jim felt the building pressure in the stem and he moaned, "Jh-jhoe," his teeth raking over his bottom lip, "I'm ghonna…"

Joe pulled his lips away and used his hand to tug at the organ until Jim gasped in released, catching most of the mess on his tummy. While Jim laid back and breathed through the intense orgasm that left his toes curled and his eyes tired, Joe cleaned him up with a tissue and tucked the covers around his chin, leaving him to rest.

While Joe dressed himself for duty, Jim watched through cloudy eyes, sleep threatening overtake him. He couldn't tell if he dreamt the kiss to his forehead in the tender, soft reality between waking and sleeping. Jim's heavy lids closed at the same time the door to the apartment swung shut as Judge Dredd reported for duty.


End file.
